Troubled Waters by Mahallette Please see author's note at end. WARNING: Violence towards children resulting in death.

"Mama, look!" Amy McLauren called, running up to her mother.

Kate smiled indulgently and made an appropriate fuss over the caterpillar that the small girl held. "That's very pretty, Amy Angel, but don't let him loose in the garden," she said, gently stroking the fuzzy bug.

"I won't, mama," the girl responded. Little Alonzo scrambled over to have a look, and Amy held it for the three-year-old to see. "Can I keep it?" she asked.

"Don't you think his mama would miss him?" Kate tugged at a particularly stubborn weed, finally pulling it free. She fell back heavily into the dirt between the rows of cabbage causing nine-year-old Allen to laugh.

"That was funny, ma. Do it again!" Allen giggled.

"Behave yourself, young man, or your papa's going to have to teach you some manners when he gets home," the woman chided playfully. She glanced at her four children and smiled. Since she and John had moved to the small farm in Frio Canyon, their little family had settled in, and the corn crop was doing well. Her husband had gone to Leakley for the day to buy another plow horse. The additional animal would help increase production and lessen the workload.

It had taken a great deal of hard work to get to this point, but things were finally looking up. Kate was schooling her children herself as best she could, until they were older and could be sent to a proper school. The children were all bright and proving to be a challenge. But she loved them all dearly, and wouldn't have given up their secluded life in the rugged canyon for anything.

In the basket next to her, Aaron started to cry. Kate picked up the infant and started rocking him. As the fussing settled down, she heard noises from the house. She craned her neck, but could only see the roof from her position.

"Hogs musta got out again," Allen said.

"Must have gotten out," the woman corrected. "Would you please..."

"Yes, Ma," Allen sighed before she finished. It wasn't the first time the darned hogs had broken out of their pen, and they always seemed to make a bee-line for the house. Kate grinned as the boy trotted up the small bluff where the house sat. She was placing Aaron back into his basket when Allen's startled scream pierced the air.

Alarmed, Kate jumped to her feet. She had taken only two steps toward the house when her son came into view. The boy was sprinting toward her, his face etched with terror, his mouth open in a silent cry. She hesitated, confused, when the lad stumbled, then pitched forward, his face suddenly obliterated by blood.

It was then that she saw the Indians.

"Run! Dear God, run!" she shouted as she felt the first bullet slam into her chest. Ignoring the pain, she snatched up little Aaron and headed away from the house. Another shot hit her in the right arm, forcing her to switch her hold on the baby, but she never broke stride. The first shot to her leg caused her to stumble, and the second almost felled her, but driven by fear and the innate instinct to protect her children she managed stay upright.

Ahead of her, Amy scrambled over the garden fence, then helped Alonzo over. Kate was nearly there when yet another bullet slammed into her right hip. She cried out and stumbled. Amy started back toward her and she struggled to her feet.

"No!" Kate called to the girl. "Run, baby, run!"

"Mama!" Amy's frightened wail spurred Kate forward. But the low fence proved a formidable barrier to the injured woman. She could barely lift her legs, much the less scale the fence. She handed Aaron to his sister. The six-year-old gazed at her with wide eyes.

"C'mon, mama. Please."

The plaintive plea gave Kate a small bit of strength, and she managed to start over the fence. But another bullet hit her hip and she fell onto the dirt and rocks. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and Aaron's piercing wail. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps, but she refused to pass out.

"Please, God. My babies..."

"Mama?"

Kate blinked up at Amy's gray eyes. "Get help, Sweety," she gasped. "If you get help, Mama will be all right." It was not without some surprise that she discovered that she didn't hurt. She wasn't afraid for herself, but her babies were so young. And sweet Allen...

"'K, mama. Inna minute." Amy jumped up and ran toward the house.

Kate tried to get up. Tried to call the child back. But she couldn't move, couldn't speak. Her life was draining away slowly, and she was only vaguely aware of Alonzo as he sat next to her, his little arms barely able to hold his baby brother. The three-year-old put his hand on her face and she forced a smile.

Her thoughts drifted to John. The man would be devastated to find his little family butchered like this. If she could somehow spare him that, she would. But she couldn't even save her own children.

Kate's eyes drifted shut.

"Mama?" The small voice drifted into her consciousness. "Mama?" This louder, alarmed cry brought her eyes open. Then she knew she was dead. Her precious Amy floated in her vision, truly an angel now. She felt her head being lifted, then settled on a soft surface. "I brought you a pillow, mama."

"Thank you, Angel," she whispered, wondering why she needed a pillow when she was drifting in the clouds. "Take care of your brothers."

"I will." The little girl disappeared from her view, and Kate sighed. Somehow, she managed to reach up and take Alonzo's hand before her vision went black.

+ + + + + + +

"Vin?" Chris glanced at the blonde man beside him. While the first shot they'd heard hadn't been cause for alarm, the rapid series that followed told the lawmen that this was more than just a hunter after dinner.

The tracker shrugged. "Dunno. One rifle. Probably a Sharps. Either a piss-poor shot or..."

"Trouble," Chris supplied.

"One way ta find out." The tracker grinned and nodded in the direction the shots had come from. Their prisoner escort was proving to be annoyingly simple despite the reputation the three men had earned, and the antsy tracker was itching for action.

Chris glanced back at the other men. They were all alert, looking to him for instruction, while the three prisoners were watching with seeming disinterest.

"Pro'ly jest some poor homesteader gettin' scalped by Injuns," Foster drawled. His companions laughed.

Buck, who was leading the man's horse, spun his mount so that the big gray bumped into the outlaw's piebald, throwing the animal off balance. "Keep it," the lawman growled as Foster struggled for balance.

"JD, Nathan," Chris motioned to the trail ahead, and Vin's retreating form, then turned to the other three peacekeepers, who were leading the outlaws' mounts. "Follow at a distance."

The men nodded as Chris dug his heels into Midnight's sides. The big black bolted forward, sprinting after Vin. He caught up with the others and let his horse settle in to stride with Diablo.

Vin suddenly swung his horse to the right, darting into a stand of trees. At first Chris was confused. Then he realized that they were on a narrow path. He marveled yet again at the tracker's innate ability to find things that weren't there. He never would have found the path himself, no matter how hard he looked.

The four horses charged through the foliage at a break-neck pace. Vin sensed the urgency in the silence following the gunfire, and was throwing caution to the wind. So when he hauled his horse to a sliding stop, it was all Chris could do to keep Midnight from plowing into Diablo.

JD's Milagro went down on her knees, and Nathan's horse sidestepped into a tree. The healer let out a curse as Milagro struggled upright, catching his knee.

"Tanner..." Chris growled, but the tracker leapt to the ground, ignoring him. Annoyed, Chris swung from the saddle and pushed past Diablo, intent on berating the younger man for his carelessness. Vin was standing just in front of his horse, holding the bridle and looking down at a little girl. Chris hesitated.

The child stood stock still in the middle of the path, her gray eyes wide, staring at the men. Most of her long chestnut hair had fallen from the ribbon that was meant to contain it, and there was a smear of blood on her face.

Chris started to move forward but was shoved aside as Nathan limped past him. The healer knelt in front of the girl and gently touched her arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly as his gentle hands searched for injury.

The child nodded. "Mama's hurt. She said to come quick."

Nathan reached out and brushed the girl's hair back. "Can you point where?"

Again the girl nodded, pointing behind her.

"Let's go," Chris snarled. He nearly collided with JD, who was beside him. "Stay with Nathan," he ordered. JD nodded mutely as the older gunslinger remounted and started after Vin.

The path finally opened out to a small canyon valley. A shallow river ran along one side. A large field of corn took up the center of the valley, and a simple house stood on a small rise. There was a kitchen garden between the house and the river. Vin surveyed the area silently and Chris waited patiently. Finally, the tracker moved forward.

As they neared the house, it was evident that something was wrong. Clothing and household items were strewn around the yard, and the door was hanging at an odd angle. Chris sat nervously on Midnight, watching Vin's back as the tracker rummaged through the house. He came out and shook his head slightly, then looked the yard over.

"Ah, hell." The quiet oath sent a chill through Chris. Vin was running past him, and the gunslinger swung out of the saddle to chase after him. He stumbled to a stop when he saw the body that Vin was leaning over.

"Damn." It was just a boy, no more than nine or ten -- the same age Adam would be.

"Bastards shot ‘im as he was running away," Vin whispered.

Chris shook his head, then moved between the boy's body and the approaching riders. The little girl was wiggling out of Nathan's grasp, oblivious of the distance to the ground. Nathan grabbed her arm and managed to ease her down before she fell. She started running toward Chris and Vin with JD hot on her heels.

"Mama!"

As Chris crouched to catch her, she dodged him and ran past, not even stopping to look at the body in the dirt. The gunslinger jumped up and chased after her, but JD had already caught her.

"Hold still now," the boy chided, but the child was trying to squirm out of his grip.

"You have to help mama," she wailed and JD shot Chris an anguished look.

Chris took the girl by the shoulders and forced her to hold still. "Where's your mama?"

"By the fence. She's hurt." Chris released her and started to run in the direction she pointed. The terrain dipped toward the river, and it wasn't until he was nearly to the fence that he saw the woman.

"Nathan!" The call was unnecessary, but it made the gunslinger feel like he was doing something as he slid to his knees next to the still form. Nathan was beside him in an instant.

A large blossom of blood was spread across the woman's chest and her skin was pale and damp. At first Chris thought that they were too late, but at Nathan's touch her eyes fluttered open.

"Water..." The single word was a gasp, barely audible. Vin handed Nathan a canteen, and the healer helped her to drink. She finally smiled, then nodded.

"Mama!" At the child's cry the woman's eyes opened wide and she struggled to sit. Chris nodded at JD to release the girl as Nathan tried to hold the woman down.

"Easy, ma'am. Girl's just fine." The woman relaxed back, her energy spent. Nathan examined the bullet wound on her chest and looked up at Chris. He shook his head slightly, then moved back to allow the child to kneel beside her mother.

"Are you all right, Angel?" The woman tried to raise her hand but failed. Her voice was barely audible.

The girl patted her mother's cheek and smiled. "I'm okay, mama."

Weakly, the woman looked around. A frown creased her face. "Babies...took my...babies."

Chris cast a sharp glance at Vin. The tracker immediately began to look the area over.

"What babies? Ma'am?" Nathan was leaning over the woman now, listening intently, but a moment later he looked up and shook his head. Chris cursed under his breath, glad to have the healer with him so that he didn't have to be the one to deal with the child. Nathan was hugging her, talking quietly to her. Vin was already out of sight, along with JD, but he knew they'd be back.

With an angry sigh, Chris squeezed Nathan's shoulder and motioned toward the house. The healer gathered the little girl in his arms and followed him.

The other three peacekeepers were arriving with their charges as Chris and Nathan got back to the house.

"We too late?" Josiah asked. The gunslinger nodded and gestured to the body of the boy. Josiah let out a quiet oath as he swung out of the saddle.

"Woman's dead over by the fence," Chris continued. "Get these scum taken care of..." he motioned to the outlaws, "then we'll take care of the woman and the boy."

"Looks like they missed a scalp," Foster called with a wicked grin. The outlaw was bored, and was itching for a fight. He got one.

Before Buck could shove the man, Chris had crossed the distance to the outlaw's horse in two long strides and grabbed him by the lapels. With a vicious yank, the gunman pulled Foster to the ground and delivered a strong blow to the man's chin. Foster fell in a heap but shook off the pain and wiped blood.

"Wassa matter, Larabee? Injun's beat ya to the woman?" He struggled to his feet, but before he was fully upright, Chris had him by the coat again. He shoved the man backwards into Chaucer. The animal side stepped, but Ezra held the horse steady.

"You just shut up," Chris growled.

Foster grinned. "Jest ‘cause she's dead doesn't mean ya cain't still..." He didn't have a chance to finish. Chris reached out and grabbed him by the throat, cutting off his air.

"Mr. Larabee, while I'm sure that there would be supreme satisfaction in putting that miscreant out of our misery, I'm sure the law will see it otherwise."

Chris glared at Ezra, his hands still wrapped around the man's throat. The gambler returned the glare, then handed Chris his handkerchief.

"Thanks, Ezra," Chris snarled as he took the material and shoved it into Foster's mouth.

"Far better than he deserves," Ezra drawled. "But I was becoming bored with the conversation as well." He urged Chaucer into a sidestep as Chris secured the gag and shoved Foster at Buck.

"Get them outta my sight," the gunslinger growled. There was a rage building in his heart and the three prisoners made too easy a target, particularly Foster, who reveled in goading the lawmen.

Buck and Ezra dragged the three men to the barn while Josiah turned his attention to the horses. They had been riding hard all day, and it was a good opportunity to water and rest the tired animals. Nathan was in the house with the little girl, picking up clothing and putting some of the cast-aside furnishings back in place.

Chris stared across the garden, watching for the two figures that finally appeared just before sunset. He had briefly told the other men what they had found, choosing to wait until Vin and JD had returned with whatever information they had before going into detail. Buck, Ezra and Josiah had collected the bodies of the woman and her son, and after Nathan had examined them, they had been carefully wrapped in blankets and laid on the larger bed under the house's loft.

Now Chris could see that JD was concentrating on the ground, with Vin following slowly behind, carrying something. As they drew closer, Chris could see that while the tracker was still wearing his buckskin coat, he was shirtless.

"'Bout time you two showed up," Buck boomed, running out and dropping an arm around JD's shoulders. "Where you been, anyway?"

Chris caught the brief glance JD shot the older man, and the defeated look in the kid's eyes. Buck however, had turned his attention to Vin.

"What you got there?" he asked, dancing around the blonde man, trying to look over Vin's shoulder. Vin remained silent, but JD spoke up.

"Let up, Buck," the young man snarled, an almost feral tone to his voice. Buck backed up a step, hands up in supplication, a huge grin on his face.

"What's eatin' at you, kid?" he asked, before turning to Vin again. "C'mon, Tanner, own up." The larger man grabbed at the bundle the tracker was holding and before Chris could intervene, Buck was laying in the dirt, staring up at JD. Chris caught the boy's arm before he could land another blow.

"JD..." The word was barely out of the gunslinger's mouth when he found himself dodging a vicious punch. He staggered back as Josiah caught the younger man from behind.

"Let me go, Preacher..." JD snarled, trying to kick out. It was only because of his larger stature that Josiah was able to avoid the flailing feet.

"What's got into you, kid?" Buck asked, struggling to his feet, rubbing his bruised jaw.

"Ain't a kid," JD snapped back, still fighting Josiah. Chris nodded to the big man, who released the boy. For a moment JD glared at the other men, then trotted after Vin, who had ignored the action and gone into the house.

The other peacekeepers traded glances, then followed the two youngest. Vin was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the figures on the bed. JD approached him slowly, talking softly, like he would to a skittish horse. Chris caught Buck's arm and stilled the other men with a shake of his head.

"C'mon now, Vin," JD crooned quietly. "We're back. Let me have it." The young man reached up and took hold of the bundle that Vin held. The tracker looked down at the boy and finally released his parcel. JD looked back at Chris, the pain in his eyes shaded by concern.

"Vin?" The tracker blinked as though coming out of a trance, and focused on JD.

"Yeah?" The response was barely audible.

"Why don't you take the little girl and show her the horses." JD motioned to the silent child who had her hand clenched tightly in Nathan's.

Vin looked over at them, then back to JD. "Thanks," the tracker whispered. He didn't look up at the other men as he picked up the girl and carried her from the house.

The other five men watched JD curiously. The young man turned to them, his expression grim. "Vin said there's about a dozen of ‘em. Apache. Most likely a raiding party. Didn't see any indication of women or children." The young man sighed and wiped his arm across his eyes. "Found..." He waved his hand vaguely toward the shirt-wrapped bundle that he had placed on the table. "Nate..."

Nathan moved forward as JD continued. "Said they probably wanted ta stop the crying," he muttered so quietly that the other men had to strain to hear. Nathan let out a sharp gasp. "Said they used a rock ta..." JD broke off, his voice catching.

"Head's bashed in," Nathan supplied, replacing the makeshift covering.

"I don't get it," JD finally said, his hazel eyes pleading with the older men. "He's just a baby..."

Stunned silence hung over the room until Buck stepped forward and pulled the boy into an embrace. "'S okay, kid," he whispered.

JD shook his head. "No, it ain't, Buck."

At a loss for words, the older gunslinger simply stood beside the younger man, offering quiet support. Chris finally shook his head and stepped forward to look at the small bundle himself. He cleared his throat, cursing what ever fates had put him in charge of the small band of peacekeepers. While he knew in his gut that he was doing the right thing, it was easier to be on his own, without the responsibility that leadership of the small group brought. And he sure as hell could do without the others looking to him for direction.

He fought the overwhelming urge to crawl into a bottle.

"Nathan," he finally muttered.

The black healer sighed and looked at the men surrounding him. "Girl's name is Amy McLauren. Boy here is Allen." He gestured toward the bed. "Reckon the baby's Aaron. There's a three-year-old, too. Alonzo." Nathan paused and rubbed his eyes before continuing.

"Boy was shot in the back of the head as he ran away from the house. Woman was shot once in the chest, once in the right arm, twice in the left leg and twice in the right hip." He waited for the muttered curses to die down. "Frankly, I don't know how she held out as long as she did. We found her with a pillow under her head. Most likely Amy came here and got it before she ran for help." He sighed again. "Don't know how she made it here and back with them still here."

Josiah started to reply, to make a profound comment about divine intervention, but came up short. Surely the hand of God protected little Amy, but then why hadn't the woman and boys been protected as well? He didn't have an answer, so he remained silent, aware of the eyes on him.

After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, Ezra spoke. "So there is another child unaccounted for?"

"Yep," Nathan replied with a weary sigh. "Father went into town to buy a horse. Supposed ta be back tonight."

Chris' muttered oath didn't go unnoticed. The black-clad gunslinger turned and stalked from the building. He couldn't put aside the feelings that had swept over him at Nathan's statement. McLauren would come home to find his family fractured and butchered, much like he had his own. He had no intention of being anywhere near when the man returned.

Vin was holding Amy up while the child patted Diablo's nose. When the tracker saw Chris, he settled the little girl in the saddle, pulled the cinch tight and led the horse toward the older man.

"You all right, Pard?" Chris asked as he fell in step beside Vin.

"Yep," the younger man sighed. "Just shook me fer a bit." He stared at the blue expanse of sky for a moment. "Hate when little kids're hurt."

Chris nodded agreement.

"And then JD's questions...Didn't have no answers."

Chris glanced at the tracker. "Reckon I don't either," he said. They walked in silence for several minutes before Chris spoke again. "There's a three-year-old out there."

"Storm's comin'. We'd best get after ‘em now, or we'll loose ‘em." There was weary resignation in Vin's tone.

Chris looked up at the sky, then at his companion. There wasn't a cloud to be seen, and the air was still. But if Vin said it was going to rain, it was going to rain. Still, he didn't like the idea of splitting the team, but there wasn't much choice. They couldn't very well drag their prisoners around the country-side with them, but they had to try to find the boy.

He mulled the possibilities over, but could only come to one conclusion. They couldn't spare more than three to go after the Apaches. The prisoners they were escorting had escaped captivity more than once, leaving a number of dead lawmen in their wake. It wouldn't be safe to have more than one ponied by a man, and if McLauren didn't show, someone would have to take charge of Amy.

No matter how they cut it, it wasn't good.

"I'll get Nathan," the gunslinger finally said. He lifted Amy from the saddle. As he carried her to the house, he made the mistake of looking into her eyes. The quiet trust he saw there shook him.

"Mama told me to look after Alonzo and Aaron," she said, looking into his soul. "You gonna bring them back?"

Chris nodded and cleared his throat. "I plan to do what I can," he answered, fighting to control his voice.

"Can I see mama now?" she asked, her steel gray eyes boring into him. Chris realized he'd rather face a hundred guns than any more of the child's questions.

But then Josiah was there to rescue him.

"What do you have there, Brother Chris?" the preacher asked, scooping the girl from the gunslinger's grasp. He hefted her up and she giggled. "Why I believe it's a little squirrel."

"I'm not a squirrel," Amy protested. "I'm a little girl." She leaned back so that she could look the big man in the face.

Josiah chuckled. "I believe you're right," he boomed. "You are a little girl."

Amy squirmed, straining to look back at Chris. "Are you brothers?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose," Josiah replied. "We may not be kin, but our lives are linked."

"Oh." The simple reply held confusion and childish acceptance.

"I believe what Mr. Sanchez is trying to say is that we fight like brothers," Ezra drawled as he met the group on the porch. Nathan, Buck and JD were behind him.

"You talk funny," Amy observed. Buck snorted.

"Indeed," Ezra replied, casting the ladies' man a harsh look. "My diction distinguishes me as a man of breeding."

"What Ezra's trying to say," Josiah translated, "is that he's full of hot air."

The indignant look the gambler gave him made the older man laugh, and even Amy giggled. "I know when I'm not appreciated," Ezra huffed in mock anger and stalked off the porch.

Chris smiled, then turned to the men in front of him. "Nathan, you're with Vin and me. We're going after the Apaches. The rest of you wait here until morning. If McLauren isn't back by then, take Amy to Leakley, then get those men to Carson Falls."

"But what about you?" JD asked.

"Let's keep in touch through Mary Travis. Wire her whenever you get the chance. We'll do the same. Once you have those men taken care of, you can catch up to us."

"Don't like it," Buck grumbled. "Splittin' ain't good."

Chris glared at the other man for a moment and started to snap a reply, but caught himself when he noticed Amy staring intently at him. "I realize that," he said with more control than he felt. "Any other options?"

After a brief silence, Buck shook his head. "Just be careful, Stud."

"Same goes for you," Chris returned with a grin. He tipped his hat to the men and turned to join Vin. Before he was off the porch, Amy had squirmed out of Josiah's grip and chased after him.

"This is ‘lonzo's," the girl said, holding up a small stuffed dog. "He'll want it."

Chris forced a smile and took the toy. Without speaking, he walked toward the tracker. Nathan limped quietly behind him.

As they neared the horses, Ezra passed them. The gambler had a twisted grin on his face, but passed them silently, merely touching the brim of his hat. Chris watched him curiously, then shrugged.

Then he saw Vin.

"Don't say a word if you want to live," Vin snarled. Chris gagged back laughter. Under the tracker's worn buckskin coat a shock of silk ruffles could be seen. "Ain't my fault Ezra's the only one'a ya ‘civilized enough ta bring fresh haberdash'ry'."

Behind him Chris heard Nathan snicker, but the gunslinger managed to keep a straight face. "Looks fine," he lied.

Vin wasn't fooled. Gruffly, he shoved Midnight's reins at his friend, then swung into Diablo's saddle. "Burnin' daylight."

And he was on his way, not waiting to see if the others followed.

+ + + + + + +

"Never seen Vin shook up like that before," JD said quietly. He was sitting on the floor next to the fireplace with Amy curled on his lap. In the absence of any family, the child had taken to the men, who all doted on her. But the day had exhausted the girl, and now she was sound asleep.

"Even the most hardened of us can balk in the face of terrible things," Josiah replied. In the wake of Amy's childish exuberance, he was feeling back to himself. He realized that eventually the girl would comprehend what had happened, and they'd have to deal with that. He only hoped her father would be back by then.

"But why?" JD's soft inquiry had no answer.

"Don't fret on it, kid," Buck said from his spot by the door. He took a sip of stale coffee.

"How can I not fret on it, Buck?" JD challenged quietly. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "You weren't there. You didn't see her laying there. She was shot six times. Six times. There ain't no call for that. She was helpless."

Buck was on his feet moving toward the young man, intent on stopping the conversation before it went further. He crouched in front of JD. "Don't be thinkin' like that, son," he said. "We got that there little girl and Chris is gonna fetch back her brother. That's what you ought ta think on." He looked into the weary hazel eyes.

"But it don't make sense..." JD reached up and wiped his face.

"In a skewed way, it does," Josiah mumbled. "Woman's makin' baby boys that'll grow up ta be enemies and kill their children."

"They can't know that."

"Don't matter," Josiah continued. He'd lived among Indians before, and had a feeling for their struggle for survival. He didn't approve by any means, but he understood. "There's white folk who've treated the Indians the same, killin' ‘em just because of their blood. It's the history of mankind."

"Man ain't kind," JD mumbled and Josiah chuckled.

"Amen, Brother Dunne."

Buck settled on the floor beside the young man. "Ya oughta get some sleep, JD. We got a long day." The kid nodded and closed his eyes. Buck looked up at Josiah. The big man nodded once.

"Reckon I'll check on Ezra." Slowly, Josiah rose and headed for the door. He shuffled to the barn, feeling every one of his years. If it wasn't for small reprieves from the grim realities of life, he could easily lose himself in the cruelty and hatred that the peacekeepers dealt with on a daily basis. He hated that JD was losing his youth this way, and hoped that the more experienced men could make the transition from boy to man easier on him.

A single lantern lit the interior of the barn. Ezra sat on a pile of hay, shuffling through a deck of cards. The three prisoners were shackled to a heavy beam, huddled together, asleep.

"Mr. Sanchez," Ezra drawled, setting the cards aside.

"Ezra." Josiah settled his large frame next to the smaller man. "Why don't you get some sleep."

"Why don't you, Josiah?" the conman countered.

"Didn't come out here to argue," the preacher said. "Just came to be sure yer all right."

"No, sir, I'm not," Ezra returned. "To see those innocents..." He trailed off and stared at the cards.

"Yep," Josiah responded, and a companionable silence fell between the two.

+ + + + + + +

Distant flashes of light announced the coming storm, and the increasing wind marked its imminence. Shortly after midnight, the rain started. At first it was like a fine mist, but soon huge drops were falling in a deluge.

"Vin!" Chris doubted that his call could be heard over the pounding of the rain and the din of thunder, or the tracker's single-mindedness. He tried again, then spurred Midnight forward and grabbed Diablo's reins. Unconsciously, Vin started to swing at him but checked his movement when recognition dawned.

"What?" The question was snapped out.

"Got ta stop, find shelter," Chris yelled, blinking water from his eyes.

"Got ta find the boy!" Vin yelled back.

Chris shook his head. "You see any tracks, or just followin' instinct?"

The younger man glared at him for a moment, then grumbled, "What's it matter?"

"Tracks'er gone now. Instinct'll be there in the morning."

Chris watched while Vin thought it over then controlled his emotions.

Finally a wry smile crossed the younger man's lips. "Reckon yer right. Chances'er good they won't travel in this anyway." The tracker spun his horse past Chris and Nathan. With a quiet oath Chris spurred Midnight after him.

Nathan shook his head and followed silently. He was well aware of the dynamics that the two men shared and felt like the odd man out. And for now, it was best to remain silent and add support where he could.

Chris was about to grab Diablo's reins again when Vin turned the animal to the left. Chris' hand fell short, and before he could make another attempt, Vin reined in and swung out of the saddle. With a simple nod to Chris, the younger man led Diablo forward a few paces.

The gunslinger knew he shouldn't have been surprised when he found himself standing under a low outcropping of rocks. Even in the dark, the damned tracker had seen the makeshift shelter.

With a mirthless grin, Vin dropped his horse's reins, then loosened the cinch. "You didn't doubt me, did ya?" he grumbled.

"Never," Chris replied, loosening Midnight's cinch. Nathan watched silently, then followed suit.

"C'mon," Vin continued, "this way." The other two men grabbed their saddlebags and bedrolls then trailed after the young man. A short distance from the horses, Vin led them into a small adobe building. Most of the roof had long-since fallen in, but one wall was formed by a cliff, and they were sheltered from the rain.

"Don't think you'll ever cease to amaze me," Chris chuckled as he shook out his dripping duster. There was nothing to build a fire with, but at least it wasn't cold out. Hardtack and jerky were passed around in the dark. Later, Nathan produced a bottle of ‘medicinal' whisky.

"Gonna get an early start," Vin finally drawled. With a slight nod, the tracker pulled his hat forward, huddled into his coat and settled down to sleep. Beside him, Nathan rubbed his sore knee, then curled up under his bedroll.

Across the room, Chris pulled the small dog from his saddlebags and fingered it idly for a moment. Adam had had a similar toy, a stuffed cow that Sarah had made from a one of Chris' shirts that had taken the brunt of a fall one day when he'd been breaking a particularly bullheaded bronc. Adam had barely been able to walk, but he would go to just about any length to get to the damned cow, using walls, furniture and any people that got in his way to hold himself up as he toddled across the floor. Sometimes Sarah would hold the cow out and Adam would sway unsteadily after it, his tiny hands locked around his father's fingers, hanging from the strong support.

Then one day Adam had let go, and made his way across the room by himself. The sense of elation and accomplishment Chris had felt was tainted by a sense of loss. The completely dependent child was walking on his own. Chris remembered finding the linen cow discarded on the floor years later. One ear was chewed almost completely away and the eyes and mouth were gone, silent witness to the child that had been. But Adam was growing quickly from boy to the promise of man, and didn't need the toy any more.

Chris smiled to himself. Adam had never done anything but make him proud. The boy was honest, bright and diligent, eager to please and quick to learn.

He wondered if Mr. McLauren was proud of his children. He wondered if Allen had been a bundle of curious questions like Adam had been. He wondered if little Alonzo was crying for his papa, or if the child was even still alive.

With a disgusted shake of his head, Chris shoved the dog back into his saddlebag. Now was not the time to get sentimental. He had to push his emotions aside and remain objective. And he had to do it without the aid of a bottle. He leaned back and closed his eyes, allowing the professional gunslinger to quell any remnants of father.

+ + + + + + +

"Just grand," Ezra grumbled as he peered out of the barn at the heavy down pour.

"Wassa matter, Dandy?" Foster taunted. "'Fraid yer duds'll shrink?" The prisoner's two companions chuckled. Ezra ignored them.

"That is a possibility, isn't it, Ezra?" Josiah kidded. Ezra glowered at the preacher. "Or maybe that pretty red coat'll turn pink."

"Hey, lawman, you'd look right pretty in pink," Foster added. "Set off them eyes real nice."

Ezra turned toward the shackled man, but Josiah caught his arm. They locked gazes, and the bigger man just shook his head. Ezra sighed and turned back towards the door, staring balefully outside.

"Little rain never hurt anyone, Ezra," Josiah commented. "Maybe it'll let up before we set out."

The gambler rolled his eyes. "Doubtful," he mumbled. "And here comes Mr. Dunne, looking as ecstatic as ever." He stepped back to let the young man enter.

"Mornin', Ez, Josiah," JD greeted. "Buck said ta send ya over for breakfast. I'll get the horses ready." He held up a small bundle. "Got somethin' for these guys, too."

"And who cooked?" Ezra asked skeptically.

"Not me," the boy answered, frowning.

"So, Mr. Wilmington..?"

"Stop complainin', Ezra," Josiah chided, pushing the smaller man out the door. Ezra ducked his head and ran for the house with Josiah close on his heels. The interior of the small building was warm, and the aroma of coffee and frying bacon was tantalizing.

"Mornin'," Buck grinned. "Nice day, ain't it?" He handed a plateful of eggs and bacon to the little girl standing beside him, then followed her as she walked gingerly to the table. She set the plate down and smiled in triumph.

"Good job, Skeeter," Buck grinned, ruffling Amy's hair.

She wrinkled her nose and frowned. "I'm Amy, not Skeeter."

"Well, of course you are, Sweetheart," Buck teased. He picked her up and settled her into a chair before sitting next to her.

"I take it the prodigal parent has not returned," Ezra drawled, grimacing at the bitter taste of the coffee.

For a moment Buck frowned in concentration, then smiled in triumph. "Nope."

"Wonderful," the southerner drawled. "So we must play custodian to this adolescent until such time as we can deliver her to her sire?"

Buck shrugged, unable to fathom the meaning of the string of words.

"I'll stay here with mama," Amy declared, looking at Ezra in defiance. Josiah laughed.

"You can't stay here, darlin'," Buck said. "Yer mama's..."

"Sleeping?" Amy asked. She looked back toward the alcove where the bed was. Buck scooted his chair back and gathered the girl into his arms.

"Amy, darlin', yer ma's not sleepin'," the ladies' man muttered.

"I know," Amy answered back. "She's asleep forever, isn't she?"

Buck swallowed hard and nodded. The child on his lap cuddled against him.

Across the table, Ezra watched in silence for a moment before he dropped his fork on the table and rose suddenly. "I believe I will assist Mr. Dunne with the horses," he said, stalking from the room before the others could stop him.

Josiah watched the gambler leave, then knelt beside Buck and Amy. "Do you know what it means to be dead?" he asked.

Amy nodded, her gray eyes solemn. "Nanna an' Ompa are dead. Mama said they went to be with God."

"That's right," Josiah smiled, relieved that he didn't have to explain things to the girl. "That's where your mama went, too. She's somewhere nice, where she can't hurt any more." He brushed hair back from the child's face.

"I want to go with her," Amy said. "I want to be with God, too."

Buck and Josiah exchanged dismayed looks. "You don't want that, darlin'," Buck crooned. "You have to stay here and take care of your papa."

"He can come, too," she replied with the simple innocence of youth. Buck shrugged and looked to Josiah for help. The preacher shrugged back.

"Afraid it don't work that way, Skeeter," Buck finally said.

"Doesn't," the girl corrected, looking up at the gunslinger.

"Doesn't what?" Buck asked as Josiah stifled his laugh.

"Doesn't, not don't," Amy explained. "It doesn't work that way."

"What doesn't?" Buck asked, glad that young children were so easily distracted.

Amy giggled. "You're silly."

"I've been accused of that a time or two," Buck chuckled as he rose and placed the girl on her feet. "What say we go find your pa?"

"Okay," she murmured with as exaggerated sigh. "But it's raining."

Buck squatted next to her and nuzzled her neck. She laughed and scrunched her shoulder. "Well you sure don't taste like sugar," he declared. "Reckon ya ain't gonna melt." He took the small coat that Josiah held out to him and buttoned the child into it.

"I have to bring Emily." Amy pulled away from him and scrambled up the ladder to the loft. Buck stood and shrugged into his own coat.

"So that's how you do it," Josiah chuckled. "Start ‘em early?"

"Only way a man stands a chance," the rogue returned with a twinkle in his eye. Amy clamored back down the ladder, a well-worn rag doll clutched in her arms. She took the hand that Buck held out for her and followed the men to the barn.

JD and Ezra both drew weapons as the newcomers entered, but reholstered them when they recognized the other men. They did not, however, relax.

"You'd better be on guard, lawman," Foster growled to no one in particular. He continued, despite the fact that he was ignored. "Never know when the tide's gonna turn."

Ezra freed the prisoners from the post that they'd been fastened to, then checked to be sure that the shackles were secure. He hauled Foster toward the piebald that the outlaw had been riding while JD took custody of Evans and Josiah grabbed Taylor.

As Buck swung Amy into his saddle, Foster snorted. "You bringin' that kid along?" he sneered. "Mighty desperate, ain't ya?"

"Shut up," Ezra snarled, giving the man a shove into the side of the gangly mare.

"Or what? Yer jest jealous, ain't ya? ‘Fraid he won't share with ya?"

The gambler's hand shot up and grasped Foster by the throat, squeezing until Josiah finally managed to pry his fingers loose.

"Ezra, that's enough!" the preacher ordered. "Don't let him get to ya."

Ezra stepped back and drew a deep breath. Josiah released his hand.

"Get on the horse," Ezra ordered, shutting out whatever snide remark the man made. Buck had already swung into the saddle behind Amy. The child was swathed in an oilskin to protect her from the rain. JD was waiting quietly on Milagro, grasping the reins to Evans' mount. Josiah and Ezra were the last to mount.

Finally, the small group headed into the deluge.

+ + + + + + +

A light tingling at the back of his mind alerted Chris that Vin was stirring. He knew that the tracker had been awake for some time. Chris hadn't slept at all, instead keeping vigil over his companions during the night. He had noticed when Vin first awoke, seen the restless shifting as the younger man fought impatience. But Chris decided to wait, to let Vin move in his own time.

Pushing his hat back, Chris looked up to see Vin standing over him. Actually, it was more of a sensation in the pre-dawn dark, like the feeling he used to get on Christmas morning as Adam stood beside the bed, staring intently at his parents, willing them awake.

"Cowboy," Vin drawled. Chris nodded, then stood. "Burnin' daylight," the tracker continued. "Best start movin'."

"Our impression of daylight differs a bit," Chris commented with a smile. He moved to where Nathan slept and shook the healer lightly, catching the hand that instinctively reached for a knife. "Whoa, Doc, just me," he said.

Nathan muttered something and pulled his blanket over his face. Chris pulled it back down.

"Nathan!"

"Huh?" The healer started and sat at the sharply spoken word.

"Time to go," Chris explained. "It's morning in New York."

Nathan blinked in confusion, sure he'd missed something, then struggled to his feet and gathered his gear. It was still dark enough that he was tempted to close his eyes as Vin led them back to the horses. Nahleen's distinctive nicker helped Nathan distinguish his horse from the others. He tightened her cinch down, then fished in his saddlebags for some jerky and dried fruit. The mare greedily took the sweets he offered. Beside him, Chris and Vin tended their animals wordlessly. Both men were sullen and withdrawn. A dark shadow had fallen over Chris and the man was all gunfighter. Vin was silent, which was not unusual, but this was a deadly silence, a driven silence, that held a lethal focus.

The traits were foreign to the healer, and he was not used to seeing them in his companions, although he knew that they lurked just below the surface, and had kept the gunslinger and tracker alive so far.

Shifting in the saddle, Nathan ducked his head as they rode from under the protection of the rocks and into the pouring rain. He pulled his collar up, but even with the wide brim of his hat to help, it didn't stop water from running down the inside of his coat. It was going to be a miserable day.

The only indication that the sun had actually risen was a lightening of the black to gray. Despite the deluge, a thick mist of low clouds hung above their heads. Nathan could barely see Diablo ahead of Midnight, and he wondered how the tracker could see anything, or if maybe Vin was just running on pure instinct.

Behind the tracker, Chris' posture was alert as he watched Vin's back, relieving the younger man of that concern so that he could concentrate on the trail. The degree of trust and understanding between the men was almost unnerving.

Nathan trailed silently behind his companions, hoping that his skills would not be needed, that by some small miracle they would find the boy alive and well, and recover him without casualties.

A sharp pain in his back told Nathan that that was not to be. His breath was snatched away in that instant, and he slipped silently from the saddle to the muddy trail.

+ + + + + + +

The narrow trail to Leakley followed Frio Creek for several miles before starting up the side of a canyon that had been carved millennia before by the relentless erosion of the water. Rain was working yet to change the dynamics of the cliff-side, making the trail slick and treacherous.

Josiah led the way, Taylor's horse ponied behind him. JD was next, the reins to Evans' horse secured around his saddlehorn. Behind him, Ezra had charge of Foster's mount, and Buck brought up the rear, with Amy securely snuggled in the saddle in front of him. The riders were all concentrating silently on the path, aware of the steep drop on their right. They moved slowly, with careful determination.

Without warning, Foster dug his heels savagely into his horse's flanks. The startled animal surged forward into Chaucer, throwing the sorrel off balance. Ezra gripped the horn, dropping both his and the ponied horse's reins. The gambler used his knees and weight to guide Chaucer, but the animal's hooves slipped in the mud, unable to find purchase. Chaucer turned into the hillside and tried to scramble up. Foster rammed his beast into the other horse again and Ezra felt Chaucer slide off the trail. The horse squealed and rolled his eyes. Gripping the horn, Ezra dug his heels in, trying to encourage the animal forward, but it was no use. Chaucer's back legs went out from beneath him, and he listed to the side. Ezra was thrown from the saddle as Foster urged his piebald forward yet again. The larger animal balked, then stumbled over Chaucer, a shod hoof landing squarely in the conman's back.

Ezra cried out in pain, his limbs immediately going numb. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tumbled into the canyon along with the other man and the two horses.

Using the distraction, Evans balled his hands together and swung at JD for all he was worth. The heavy iron shackles caught the boy in the side of the head. JD tumbled backward out of the saddle and landed, stunned, on the trail. Evans drove his heels into his horse's sides and the animal lunged forward. The only place to go was between Josiah's mount and Taylor's horse. The big paint pushed ahead. Prophet went down on his knees, but Josiah managed to hang on, and by the time the horse had regained its feet, both outlaws were almost out of sight.

"JD!" Josiah pulled Prophet around, and the big chestnut danced nervously to stay on the trail. JD was sitting up, rubbing his temple and blinking. He waved Josiah on, and the preacher cast a quick glance toward Buck before spurring Prophet around and charging after the escaped prisoners.

Buck cursed, quite colorfully, as he swung out of the saddle. With little Amy in his charge, he'd had little option but to watch as the chaos started by Foster unfolded. He dropped Romeo's reins in the mud and caught Milagro's bridle. The mare eyed him nervously and pulled back.

"JD!" He had to shout over the din of rain.

The young man stood unsteadily and shook his head. "'M fine, Buck," the kid mumbled, catching his horse's reins.

"No you ain't," Buck countered. He still had hold of the horse's bit and JD climbed slowly into the saddle. "Now JD, you ain't goin' no where. We gotta find Ezra."

But the sheriff was already mounted, pulling his horse's head around, yanking the bit from Buck's fingers. JD nudged Milagro in the sides and started after Josiah.

"Damnation!" Buck yelled, frustrated. He cast a glance down the hillside where Ezra had disappeared, then turned back to his horse. Amy's gray eyes were watching him from beneath the oilskin that sheltered her from the rain. The man cursed again, silently this time, and looked back down the hill. The ground was torn up, and small rivulets of water cascaded down the side. The bottom of the canyon was obscured in mist.

"Ezra!" He shouted for all he was worth, but could feel his words being carried away by the wind. He tried again, but quickly realized the futility of his efforts. His only option now was to turn back toward the valley and follow the river in hopes of finding the gambler.

With a frustrated sigh, he remounted and turned Romeo back.

+ + + + + + +

The torrent of rain made it difficult for Chris to see Vin, even though Midnight's nose was almost touching the other black's tail. The curtain of water pouring off the brim of his hat didn't help any. Still, he squinted through the rain, scanning over Vin's shoulder at the trail ahead, then to the sides.

Midnight's neck was stretched out, his ears flattened back, relaying his displeasure of the weather to his rider. So when the gelding's head suddenly shot up and his ears pricked forward, Chris braced for action. Instead, Midnight stopped unbidden, avoiding a collision with Diablo's rump. Even before Vin's posture changed a cold chill ran down Chris' spine and he glanced over his shoulder.

There was no sign of Nathan.

"Damn." The oath was lost in the din of the pouring rain, but as Chris spun Midnight, Vin was at his side. They pushed the horses as hard as they dared on the slick path. They covered nearly half a mile before they spotted Nahleen. The bay stood patiently in the middle of the road, her head hanging over her fallen rider.

Chris skidded Midnight to a stop, but was out of the saddle while the horse was still moving. Nathan didn't stir as Chris laid a gentle hand on his back.

"Nathan?" He was rewarded with a low moan. Carefully he ran his hands over the healer's body. He found a lump on Nathan's forehead that had to be the result of the fall and not the cause. Chris found that when his hand scraped across something hard along Nathan's side. It was then that he found the broken arrow shaft that was partially concealed by the healer's body. He held it up to Vin. The tracker leaned down from the saddle and took it, studying the fletching for a moment, then gazing around the surrounding terrain. His eyes settled on a low outcropping and he nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Vin..." Chris' low growl held a warning that went unheeded. He saw the look in the younger man's eyes and leapt to his feet, making a grab for Diablo's bridle. But Vin had already spun the horse and spurred him off the trail.

"Tanner!" Chris resisted the temptation to draw his pistol and stop the tracker. It would have been effective, and certainly would have made him feel better. Instead, he turned his attention back to Nathan.

"Nathan?" he called a second time, rolling the other man on to his back. Nathan groaned and pushed his hands away.

"Nathan, we need to get out of this rain," Chris insisted, pulling him to a sitting position.

"Hurtin' me," Nathan mumbled, trying to move away.

"I know," Chris replied. "I'm sorry. But we have to get off the road."

Nathan finally looked at him, then nodded, twining his fingers into Chris' duster. The gunslinger stood slowly, pulling Nathan up with him. He ignored the healer's pain filled gasps as he moved them to the relative shelter of a copse of scrub pine. Chris settled Nathan against one of the trunks, then went back for the horses. He glanced in the direction that Vin had gone, hoping to see the obstinate tracker returning, but knowing better.

While Chris was anxious to examine Nathan's injuries more closely, he knew that first they needed shelter. He slung their bedrolls through the low branches of the trees, creating a roof of sorts, then risked starting a small fire. It wasn't any secret now where they were, and the rain would keep the smoke down. Finally, he was able to give the healer his attention.

"How is it, Nathan?" he asked, carefully pulling the material of the other man's coat and shirt away from the broken shaft. He was relieved to see that there was little bleeding.

"Reckon it ain't too bad if I'm still alive," Nathan answered with a weak grin. "Must not'a hit anything important."

"Yeah, well, you did hit your head."

"Tol' ya," Nathan muttered, drawing a gasping breath. "Gotta get it out," he murmured.

"What?" Chris asked, glancing at him. He knew full well what the healer was asking, but wasn't prepared to follow through. "Nate...no. I can't."

"Got to..." Nathan hissed in pain as he moved to face the gunslinger. Chris stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. "Can't leave it," the healer continued.

"I've done bullets. But, Nathan, an arrow..." Chris shook his head. "We'll get you to town..."

"Can't ride...this way..." Nathan blinked sweat from his eyes. "Got ta do it...Cauterize..."

Chris closed his eyes, shaking his head. Nathan was asking too much. If he could get the barbed arrow head out, and if he could stop the bleeding, the pain inflicted on the man would be terrible.

"Chris?" Nathan's voice was barely a whisper.

"What?"

"Then go after...Vin." The healer was panting now, unable to keep his eyes open.

"Won't leave ya..."

"Gonna...die anyway...if that arrow don't..."

Chris gripped Nathan's arm. "Don't talk like that," he admonished. "I'll do it. Just give me a minute."

Nathan nodded and smiled weakly. "Figured..."

"Anyone ever tell you yer a pain in the ass patient?"

But Nathan didn't answer. His goal accomplished, he had succumbed to the darkness that had been pulling at him, leaving Chris alone.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra was acutely aware that sensation had returned to his limbs. And as he hit the bottom of the cliff, he almost wished it hadn't. He hurt everywhere, and knew without doubt that his shoulder was out again. Beyond that, he needed to let his head clear before he could take further stock of his injuries.

Nearby, Chaucer struggled to his feet and shook mightily. The saddle was hanging under the horse's belly, and the bridle was missing. Ezra scooted toward the animal, taking note of the piebald lying in the mud behind the sorrel. Chaucer dropped his head and snorted in Ezra's face.

A snide comment died on the gambler's lips. He was too tired and sore to bother. Instead, he grabbed a handful of mane and hauled himself carefully upright. Slowly, he looked around. Foster was nowhere to be seen. The piebald was still on the ground, one leg bent at an unnatural angle, the blood seeping from the wound caused by broken bone ends mixing with the rain to form a pinkish puddle. Ezra reached for his sidearm, only to find it missing. His derringer was gone as well, but he still had the Richard's Conversion he kept in the shoulder harness. He drew it out and placed the barrel against the broad white forehead of the downed mare. He took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

"Ain't that real sweet," a voice snarled in his ear. Ezra flinched and started to turn, but suddenly found himself fighting for air as Foster's bound hands came over his head and around his neck. Instinctively, Ezra released the pistol and reached for the chain at his throat. The chain pulled tighter, biting into Ezra's fingers. The gambler tried to kick, but the larger man hauled back on the chain, lifting Ezra's feet from the ground.

Foster waited a beat before setting the conman back down and loosening the chain slightly. "Give me the key," he snarled, jerking on the chain for emphasis.

Ezra gasped and nodded, digging in his vest pocket. Nothing. Alarmed, he searched the other pocket. Again, nothing.

"Don't play with me, you son of a bitch," Foster growled.

Ezra shook his head. "...not..." he gasped as the chain tightened again. "...lost...fall..." If the bastard would let up on the chain long enough for him to explain...

"Yer kiddin' me, right?" Foster twisted the chain and Ezra saw stars. "You better be kiddin' me."

Gasping, Ezra shook his head again. Foster swore loudly.

"On yer knees," he ordered.

Ezra fought panic, drawing on the facade that had been ingrained in him since childhood. He'd been in worse spots, though he couldn't recall one right at the moment. He knew full well it was a matter of waiting for the right moment, and being prepared when that moment presented itself.

Slowly, Ezra knelt in the mud. Foster followed him down, keeping the chain just loose enough to allow the gambler to breathe.

"Pick up that gun by the barrel," the man ordered. "Slow. No tricks, ‘cause I got no use fer you."

Ezra nodded understanding of the unspoken threat and reached for the Richard's Conversion. He thought fleetingly of his chances of shooting his tormentor, but realized that it would be a losing proposition. Foster could choke him into unconsciousness before he could bring the gun around. Or simply shove his face in the mud and drown him.

No. He would have to wait.

Carefully, he took the pistol by the barrel and held it up. Foster let go of the chain with his right hand, but kept tension on with his left. He took the gun from Ezra, then finally released the smaller man. Ezra fell forward, catching himself with his hands, the pain in his shoulder causing him to crumple onto his side, and making it hard to draw the air he desperately needed.

Even though the Richard's Conversion was small, Foster could barely turn it so that he could line the barrel up with a chain on the shackles. And even then, the barrel was dangerously close to the man's wrist. Ezra watched as the outlaw smiled at him and pulled the trigger. The gun barked, but the man barely flinched as the bullet shattered the lock of the shackle, creasing his wrist in the process. He looked directly into Ezra's eyes and licked the blood from his wound.

With his hands free, Foster reached forward and pulled the meticulously knotted tie from around the gambler's neck, then used it to bandage his arm. "Get that saddle back on yer horse," he ordered.

Ezra stood slowly, the pain in his shoulder making itself known as the rush of adrenaline wore off. He could feel the spot on his back where Foster's horse had stepped on him. It wasn't bad if he didn't move or take deep breaths. And his ankle was barely noticeable so long as he didn't stand on it. For a moment, he gripped Chaucer's mane, holding himself upright until he had a chance to catch his breath. It took a bit of finesse, and not a little effort to get the saddle back into position and cinch it down. When he finished, he turned to face Foster. The man grinned at him, and Ezra had the strong urge to relieve the man of the few teeth he had left.

"Now get the bridle offa that there one, and put it on yers." The outlaw gestured to the dead mare.

Wearily, Ezra limped over to the horse and took the bridle off. He held it up, studying the deep port on the curb bit and shook his head. "Sir, I will not subject my horse to this cruel appointment." He used a low port bit on his horse, although a gentler snaffel would do just as well.

Foster eyed him like he'd just grown another head. "You shore do like ta kid, doncha, mister?"

"No," the gambler replied simply. "Chaucer is impeccably trained and has a soft mouth. This...implement is excessively harsh and completely unnecessary."

The laugh was not totally unexpected, but the callousness was. "Listen, Mister Dandy, I don't got time fer yer fancy talk and concern. Just bridle the damned horse, or I'll shoot ‘im." Foster raised the pistol and pointed it between the sorrel's soft brown eyes.

Alarmed, Ezra held his good hand up. "All right, sir. I will do it." He ran his hand up Chaucer's neck and settled the bridle over his ears. The horse was well-trained and dropped his head, making it easier for Ezra to pull the bridle on one handed. As the bit slid into the horse's mouth he whispered an apology. "I'm sorry, my friend. I'll make it up to you." The horse rolled his eyes and started chewing on the bit. Ezra moved to adjust the buckles, but Foster yanked him back.

"Enough." The larger man shoved Ezra forward, then climbed into Chaucer's saddle. "Start walkin', lawman, before I figure out why I ain't killed ya yet."

There wasn't much choice. He could try to charge the man, but he doubted that Chaucer would react in time to prevent Foster from taking a fatal shot. With the steep canyon wall on one side of him, and the swelling Frio Creek on the other, there was no where to run. For now had no viable alternative rather than obey.

No. He would have to wait.

+ + + + + + +

JD rubbed the side of his head yet again, fingering the tender lump there. It had finally stopped growing, unlike the pounding pain that was wrapped around his brain, trying to blind him. The torrent of water pouring off his hat didn't help matters any. For once he wished he'd paid attention to Buck and gotten himself a ‘real' hat. The narrow, upturned brim of the bowler provided little protection against the elements, unlike the wide brim of Josiah's hat, that at least kept the rain out of the preacher's eyes.

With a weary sigh, JD tried to keep focused on Josiah's broad back. He really just wanted to close his eyes, to be somewhere warm and dry, where he could sleep for two days. It took him a moment to realize that the older man had slowed his horse so that they were riding side by side.

"You okay, son?" Josiah asked, then coughed and cleared his throat. Somehow he managed to tilt his head so that the brim of his hat hid his face from JD's view.

Another reason to ditch the bowler, JD thought as he quickly replied, "Yep. I'm fine."

"Uh, huh. You know lyin's a sin, boy."

JD's head shot up, then ducked down again as the wind blew a sheet of rain in his face. "What's that supposed ta mean?" he challenged. Josiah just shrugged. For a moment, JD remained silent, his morose thoughts wedging themselves between his brain and the headache. Finally, he spoke again.

"I'm fine," he repeated. "Leastwise as fine as a fellow can be when he sees somethin' like that. I still don't get it. Ain't right killin' unarmed women and children, no matter what..." He tried to look at Josiah's eyes, but the hat was still in the way. When there was no response, he continued. "Reckon I'm fine considering Ezra and Buck are back there somewhere's, in God knows what shape. And Chris and Nathan and Vin'er chasin' all them Indians alone, and that little boy is in the hands of those savages." He paused again for breath, not hearing Josiah's light chuckle. Once the boy got started, there was no stopping him. "And I'm fine, ‘cept that I let my guard down when I shoulda been watchin' Evans and let him get the drop on me, and get away with Taylor..."

"JD!" Josiah snapped, his voice rough.

The young sheriff stopped and glanced at Josiah. "Huh?"

"A simple ‘no' woulda done."

JD relaxed and laughed. "Sorry. Reckon I got a bit carried away, but..."

"There's no need to shoulder all the burden yerself," the big man said. He started to continue, but coughed instead. For the first time, JD got a good look at the preacher. Josiah's face was flushed, and his eyes rimmed in red. The man's normal slouch was more pronounced than usual.

"What about you, preacher?" he countered, trying to turn the focus from himself. "You don't look so good."

"And that's news?" Josiah's chuckle turned into another fit of coughing.

It was then that the outlaws struck.

Deep in the throws of uncontrollable coughing, Josiah was helpless when Evans charged his big paint into Prophet's chest, throwing the horse off balance. Prophet fell on his side, tossing Josiah into the mud. Still coughing, there was nothing Josiah could do as Evans jumped from the saddle and charged at him.

When Evans appeared, JD drew a pistol, but the man was dismounted and running before he could get off a shot. When he did take a shot, it went wild as Taylor came up behind JD and leapt from his horse onto Milagro. The larger man dropped his still-chained arms around JD's neck. Without thinking, JD kicked free of the stirrups and launched himself backward. The two men tumbled from the saddle and to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and chains.

The brief distraction of JD's errant shot was enough to allow Josiah to catch his breath and reach for his pistol. Unfortunately, his holster was empty. He glanced quickly at Evans and saw the outlaw bring the missing Schoefield to bear on him. Josiah didn't hesitate. He lunged to his feet and drove the smaller man backward. The gun skidded away and Evans scrambled after it. Josiah managed to grab the man around the knees, briefly slowing him, but another fit of coughing hit the large man, disabling him. With a triumphant grin, Evans grabbed the gun.

As he kicked out, JD was satisfied when his foot connected with something solid and Taylor let out a loud, "Umph!" Taylor was large, but JD was fast, and driven by the strong motivator of self-preservation. He wiggled free of the outlaw's grasp and groped for the gun that he had dropped in the fall. As his hand closed around it, Taylor kicked out and caught him in the shoulder, knocking him away. JD started to roll to his feet, but movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Josiah was on the ground, doubled over with coughing, as Evans brought a pistol up, pointing it at the preacher. JD did not hesitate or flinch as he drew his second Lightening left handed and fired two quick rounds at the outlaw. The first hit home in Evans' thigh, but the second missed its mark as the man fell.

"JD!" The warning cry was unnecessary. The young man's instincts alerted him to the danger even as Taylor drew down on him with his own pistol. JD dropped to the ground and rolled aside, shooting at the source of danger. He came up on one knee in front of Josiah and glanced around. His shot had missed Taylor, who had lunged to the side and was now on his feet, hauling Evans up. The bandits raised their pistols and fired, their shots going stray as they moved back.

JD felt himself being pulled upright and heard Josiah's strained wheezing behind him. He allowed the older man to guide him backward as he fired his remaining rounds to cover their retreat.

The pounding of the rain on the soaked ground did little to dispel the aura of silence that shrouded the area in the wake of the battle. Josiah lay panting in the mud, his arms still wrapped around JD's waist, behind the cover of a large boulder. The boy lay against his chest, trembling and drawing in deep breaths. After a moment, Josiah shifted slightly and muttered, "JD?" before the coughing hit again. JD squirmed out of his grip.

"Quit coughin' on me, preacher," JD grumbled, then broke into a grin. "We found ‘em."

Josiah shook his head and wiped his eyes. "That we did," he rasped. "Unfortunately ain't none of us going anywhere for awhile." He nodded toward the four horses standing in the road a few hundred feet away. "How's yer ammo?"

JD spun the cylinder of his remaining pistol, emptying the spent cartridges and replacing them with fresh ones from his belt. "Got sixteen," he muttered.

"More'n they got," Josiah grinned. Another spell of coughing hit and he remained doubled over for several moments, breathing in ragged gasps. JD finally reached out tentatively and rubbed his back, alarmed at the heat rolling off the big man.

"Josiah..."

"...fine..."

JD just shook his head and settled in the mud beside the older man.

+ + + + + + +

"You wait here, Skeeter," Buck told the little girl as he slid from the saddle. He reached into his saddlebags and pulled out a piece of jerky and handed it to her. Amy gazed quietly at him and took the dried meat, then looked at the carcass of the horse that was blocking their path. Buck turned Romeo so that the girl was facing the other way, then went to examine the piebald.

A quick look told him what had happened to the large horse, and despite the pouring rain, he could see where a struggle had taken place. So chances were good that both men and Chaucer had survived the fall without any major damage. He just didn't know who had the upper hand.

No doubt it would be Ezra. Even if he'd been injured, the slick-talking conman would have found a way to weasel his way out of a tight spot.

Something on the cliffside caught his attention, and he scrambled up to retrieve Chaucer's bridle. He searched around some more and found Ezra's hat, derringer and pistol. When several more minutes of looking didn't turn up anything else, he slid back down and took Romeo's reins. Amy was staring at him, still holding the jerky.

"That's fer eatin', ya know," he said.

The child nodded and wrinkled her nose. "It's salty."

"Well, now, Skeeter, that's what makes it jerky." Buck grinned and plopped Ezra's hat on the girl's head, over the hood formed by the oilcloth. "Hang onta that fer ol' Ez, 'k, darlin'?"

Amy nodded and the hat tipped precariously. Buck swung up behind her and reseated it. "You look right fancy in that there hat," he chuckled. "Better'n Ezra's old mug ever did." He nudged his horse in the sides and turned him up the canyon, in the direction he hoped Ezra had gone. Well, it was the only direction he could have gone, Buck reasoned, since they hadn't passed on the trail.

"Is Ezra with mama?"

The question startled Buck. He'd been concentrating on finding some sign of any other earthly being having passed through the narrow canyon, and she'd been silent for so long.

"I sure as hell hope not," he replied without thinking.

"You said a bad word," Amy chastised.

Buck shrugged. This child was so different from Olivia, who had grown up in a prison and was already well-versed in the ways of the world by the time she was Amy's age. The girl's innocence reminded him of Adam, and the boy's wide-eyed wonder of the world around him. "Reckon I'm in a bad mood," he defended.

"Why?"

"‘Cause I'm worried about my friends."

"Why?"

"‘Cause I don't where they are."

"Why not?"

Buck sighed. He'd played this game with Adam on more than one occasion, and knew that he couldn't win. But it would keep the girl occupied. "‘Cause we got split up."

"Why?"

+ + + + + + +

The small fire was finally bringing some warmth back to Chris' fingers. He rubbed his hands together over the flame, then pressed his palms to Nathan's cheeks. The healer was so cold, and the meager fire was almost useless.

Nathan didn't stir, and Chris wasn't sure if he should be worried or grateful. In removing the arrow, he'd been forced to carve a good-sized hole in the healer's side, and knew that it was going to be painful for the wounded man when he awoke. But Chris would feel better knowing that Nathan was all right, and frankly he wanted the company that the other man would provide. Just sitting here was driving him to distraction.

"Nathan." Chris shook the other man gently, eliciting a low moan, but nothing else. With a frustrated sigh, he leaned his head back against the tree trunk, a bit harder than he intended, but repeated the process before stopping himself.

Beating his head against the tree wouldn't accomplish anything, and besides, it was Tanner's head that he wanted to pound some sense into. The damned tracker had no business taking off on his own, causing Larabee undue worry that was eating a hole in the older man's gut.

Bad enough that the group was split in the first place, but now the growing dimness indicated that late afternoon was fading to dusk, and Vin would be on his own in the dark. With a disgusted sigh, Chris closed his eyes.

Midnight's warning nicker brought the gunslinger to full alertness. His pistol was clear of leather, but he hesitated a fraction of a second to be sure of his target, if any. No sense shooting Tanner when there were more painful options like skinning him alive.

A quick look around revealed nothing. The horse whinnied again, and Chris cautiously ducked from the makeshift shelter, fighting to control the uneasiness that was creeping over him. As he stepped into the rain, Midnight tossed his head and nickered again. Beside the black, Nahleen stood placidly, head down and ears flattened back, obviously unhappy with the weather.

Chris stroked his horse's neck, looking around, unable to find anything amiss. He reholstered his pistol, but didn't relax as he turned back toward the trees. As he dropped below the shelter of branches and blankets, a cold chill ran up his spine.

Nathan was gone.

In less than a heartbeat, Chris dropped to one knee, spun and drew his Peacekeeper. Behind him stood six Apaches. Nathan was supported between two of the Indians, his arms wrapped around his side. The healer was nearly doubled over.

Chris froze. His hand trembled as he fought the urge to start shooting. If Nathan hadn't been a factor, he wouldn't have hesitated. But the wounded man was a liability, and the Indians knew it.

Chris let the gun slip from his fingers.

+ + + + + + +

"Got to get to the horses," Josiah wheezed. He coughed again, holding his sore ribs. "We don't end this by dark and we'll lose ‘em."

Next to him, JD glanced up the road at the horses, blinking away the haze caused by the pounding in his head. The saddle bags on the lawkeepers' animals would have the ammunition they would need to easily overrun the outlaws. Unfortunately, there was a great deal of open ground between them and the horses.

"I'll try," JD finally said, handing his pistol to the older man.

"No, JD. That's not what I meant. You can't go out there."

"Then what did you mean, Josiah? That you can?"

A frustrated sigh escaped the preacher. He knew he was burning with fever, and the tight wheezing in his lungs was making breathing a challenge. The last thing he needed was to be arguing with the kid. "Gettin' yourself killed isn't going to help anything," he muttered.

JD shrugged and looked toward the horses again. He carefully scanned the surrounding area. Evans and Taylor were about fifty yards away, cowering behind a boulder. The sheriff knew that they had about eight shots between them, but it was still enough to do damage if they hit their mark. And if the outlaws got to the horses first, he and Josiah would be in trouble.

"Got an idea," JD mumbled, shaking water from his eyes. Josiah looked at him curiously, but he chose not to elaborate. He knew that if he told Josiah his plan, the man would stop him, because it really was a stupid idea, and the odds of succeeding were atrocious.

"What idea?" Josiah grumbled. JD grinned. "JD..."

"Just give me cover," the young man said, then started to trot away from their hiding place and away from the other men. Josiah's angry shout was drowned out by the rain.

"Stupid..." Josiah watched JD's retreating form, anger and fear fighting for control. The brash young man had courage to spare, but lacked the experience and control to temper it. One of these days he was going to get in over his head.

JD trotted away from the road until he was pretty sure he was out of the outlaws' line of sight, then crouched down and moved parallel to the road. Finally, he turned back so that he could cross the trail several hundred yards from their original position. Again he ran away from the road until figured it was relatively safe, then turned back in.

He could see Evans and Taylor, huddled behind a boulder, their attention focused on Josiah's position. He prayed that they would keep looking that way as he slowly crept up behind them, making what use he could of the scant cover available. He tried to calm his breathing, but as he got closer, he kept thinking of different things that could go wrong.

It was a stupid idea, anyway. He hesitated, considering turning back, when Foster made a dash for the road. Evans had both pistols and started shooting rapidly at Josiah.

It was now or never. Drawing his meager throwing knife, JD charged forward. He slid in the mud behind Evens and shoved the butt of the knife into the man's back.

"Don't move," he growled in his best imitation of Chris Larabee. Evans froze and held his hands forward, restricted by the shackles. "Now give me the guns," JD continued. Evans started to hand one pistol back, and JD jerked the knife slightly. "Slow and easy."

When he had his Lightening back, JD pocketed the small knife and took a step away from Evans. He grabbed the Schoefield, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Sit down," he ordered. Evans sank in the mud.

There was more shooting -- Josiah --and suddenly Taylor appeared, towing Prophet behind him.

"Evans, what the hell were you doing? You were supposed to give me cover..." His angry words trailed off as he saw JD. "Well, hell," he muttered, raising his hands.

Across the road, Josiah was coughing again. He tried to steady his hands as he emptied the chambers of the Lightening before reloading. His whole body ached and the wracking coughs were coming more frequently. The burning in his throat was so bad that he could barely swallow, and the incessant rain on his fevered skin made waves of chills wash over him.

As he fumbled with the awkward ejector on the small pistol, he longed for his own S&W, and the easier loading mechanism. He was still fumbling with the cartridges when he heard sloshing in front of him that indicated that he was out of time. He snapped the gate of the gun closed and cocked the pistol.

"That's on an empty chamber, Josiah," JD grinned at him. The kid had both their pistols trained on the two outlaws. Josiah smiled and struggled to his feet.

"Son, good to see ya," he croaked. "How'd you..?" He took the Schoefield that JD held to him and snapped it open.

The young man smiled and pulled out the small knife. "Feels like a gun if ya use it right," he answered smugly. Both the outlaws groaned.

"Pistol's empty," Josiah said, dumping the spent cartridges into the mud. As he started to put in fresh loads from his gunbelt, JD started doing the same with his Lightening. He looked up at the preacher with a stunned expression.

"Dang, Josiah, this one's empty, too."

Taylor shot a quick glance to Evans. "You mean that you let that little runt take you with a pocket knife and two empty guns?" he growled.

Evans shrugged, not trying to hide the sheepish look. "What about you?" he shot back.

"You two shut up," Josiah snapped, leveling the now-potent pistol at them. He turned to JD. "You know, you got some nerve, kid."

JD smiled, suddenly aware that the headache was gone. "Yep."

"And Buck's gonna have yer hide fer this."

+ + + + + + +

The darkness, along with the incessant pounding of the rain, was a godsend to Vin. It would help cover his movements, allowing him to get closer to the renegade camp without being detected.

When Nathan had been shot, he'd known that they were being trailed. Taking down a man without killing him was a way of slowing them down. But Vin had been able to backtrack the sniper, and had found their camp.

Moving silently, Vin drifted through the trees, finally finding the sentry that he knew would be there. He slid behind the man and had him in a choke-hold before the Indian knew what was happening. Vin tightened his hold, not letting go until the man sagged in his grip. He eased the sentry to the ground, then crept forward and looked over the camp.

Something was wrong, but the tracker couldn't pinpoint the problem. All he knew was that his instinct was screaming at him. He pushed the feeling aside, allowing the bounty hunter to take over. With detached expertise, he evaluated the scene before him.

The Apaches had taken refuge from the rain in a dense thicket. Vin had to squint to see through the darkness. He counted six Indians. The boy Alonzo was sleeping unattended on the opposite side of the camp. Vin smiled to himself. The Apaches didn't expect a rescue attempt at night in this weather. They knew that the white man preferred brute force in their confrontations, and Vin would use that to his advantage.

Moving methodically, Vin edged his way around the camp until he was as close as he could get to the child without breaking cover. Then he settled in the mud to watch and wait.

Although it appeared that the Indians were not paying any attention to the sleeping tot, close observation showed that they were watching him carefully. The tracker knew it was going to be a matter of time and patience, waiting for just the right moment...

That moment came sooner than he expected. Something caught the attention of the group of men. Vin didn't wait to see what it was. He sprang to his feet and snatched Alonzo. He hated the terror that he knew he was causing the boy as he clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting off the startled cry. The boy squirmed, making it hard to hold on to him.

"It's okay, ‘Lonzo," Vin crooned in his ear, hoping that the sound of his name would calm him. It didn't work, and the boy continued to struggle. Vin adjusted his grip, trying to restrain the flailing legs.

They had only covered a small distance when a sharp cry sounded over the rain, spurring Vin to more speed. But the next shout caused him to falter, and it took all of his experience and training not to turn back.

"Leave him alone!!"

Larabee. Strained and muffled, but definitely Larabee.

Vin shut his mind down and sprinted for Diablo's hiding place.

+ + + + + + +

A cry of pain cut through the haze in Nathan's head, reaching the soul of the healer. Someone needed help. It never occurred to him that that someone was him.

He struggled to open his eyes, pulled further to awareness by the defiant shout that followed. He blinked, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, fighting the fear and confusion that followed the near-blindness. He tried to stand, but pain tore through his side and brought a hitched gasp to his lips. For a moment he paused on his hands and knees, trying to catalogue the bits of information into one coherent thought.

It was night -- that explained the blindness. He opened his eyes again and sighed in relief. If he concentrated, he could make out trees and boulders, and...milling figures? But why were the men so agitated?

He didn't get a chance to think on it further as he was roughly grabbed and pulled to his feet. He bit back a cry, but was unable to stop the scream that escaped him as a rough hand closed over the wound in his side.

"Leave him!"

Again, the defiant shout. Nathan swiveled his head around and managed to focus on the figure of a man who was struggling in the grip of two others. Recognition dawned and the memories came crashing back -- the murdered woman and children, the pursuit on the trial, Apaches...He'd been shot...

A bolt of panic coursed through him and he took a step toward the security that Chris Larabee represented. Rough hands caught him and a fist connected with the tender wound again, wrenching another anguished cry from him. He struggled weakly, but was easily restrained. When he felt cords being slipped over his wrists, strength born of panic took over. A primitive instinct told him that if he allowed them to restrain him, all hope would be lost.

With a defiant roar, Nathan surged upright, the fire in his side momentarily shoved aside. Not expecting such strong resistance, his attackers were thrown off. Nathan took the chance to move toward Chris.

The Indians had been surprisingly careful with Nathan until they'd arrived at the camp. Even then, they hadn't been so rough that Chris had felt the need to maintain a close eye on the healer. So he had taken the opportunity to study the layout of the area. A movement across the camp had caught his attention, a flash of buckskin and light hair -- Tanner. The boy was nowhere in sight...The damned tracker had been successful!

Then Nathan's cries had jerked Chris' attention back to the healer. The unprovoked attack on the wounded man brought his protective instincts to a head, ripping an angry scream from him.

Now, seeing Nathan move toward him, Chris dropped down then backward, pulling his captors off balance. He lunged up, felling the man on his right with a vicious punch. He threw his weight into the man on his left, delivering a kick to the Indian's knee, then, when the man collapsed to the ground, he clubbed him in the back of the head. Feral instinct drove the gunslinger as he surged forward to help his friend. Nathan had managed a few staggering steps before slipping in the mud and going down on his hands and knees. Chris was at his side in an instant, standing over the fallen man, daring anyone to come close.

But primal drives cannot compensate for overwhelming odds, and the gunslinger was easily wrestled to the ground, under a mass of bodies. He screamed angrily and fought futilely. Nathan was hauled upright, his wrists tied together. The healer barely responded as he was hung from a limb, his feet hardly touching the ground. Chris sagged in the grips of the men holding him and closed his eyes.

Nathan's anguished wail brought the gunslinger's head up. One of the Apaches stood in front of the dark healer, brandishing a smoldering stick. He started to lay the firebrand across the exposed wound in Nathan's side.

"NOOOO!" The scream was wrenched from Chris before he knew it, but it stayed the actions of the Indian. Instead of gouging the stick into Nathan's injured side, he turned to look at Chris.

That was when realization dawned. They didn't particularly care about Chris or Nathan. They were taunting Vin, making him choose...

+ + + + + + +

Twins, even from the birth, are misery and man...

Small miseries, like small debts, hit us in so many places...

We should pass on from crime to crime, heedless and remorseless, if misery did not stand in our way...

Man is only miserable so far as he thinks himself so...

Ezra thought himself miserable, to say the least. And repeating the quotes like a mantra wasn't helping much. It did keep his mind off the various aches and pains that wracked his body.

Misery is not to be measured from the nature of the evil, but from the temper of the sufferer.

At least the ground was relatively even here and Ezra had fallen into a steady cadence that allowed him to place his right foot carefully, taking some of the pressure off the injured ankle. Of course, that didn't help the pain in his ribs and back each time he took a breath. Or the dull ache in his shoulder. Or the fact that there wasn't a dry spot on his body. Or that the fancy snake skin boots weren't intended for hiking.

And neither was he for that matter.

Behind him, Chaucer tossed his head, rattling harness as he fought the torturous bit that Foster seemed to delight in yanking. Ezra grimaced, apologizing silently yet again to the horse.

"Stop here," Foster ordered.

About time, Ezra thought as he stumbled to a halt, hissing in pain as he misstepped with his bad ankle. He was having a difficult time seeing anything in the dark, although he knew that they were on the rim of the canyon now, somewhere along one of the numerous tributaries that ran off the main gorge. He could hear the river gurgling below them and feel the updraft that ran up the canyon walls.

The creaking of leather alerted Ezra that Foster had dismounted. Chaucer stretched his neck and shook, causing the conman to smile. It was as though the horse was glad to be rid of that particular burden. Wearily, Ezra waited while Foster rummaged through the saddle bags and withdrew a can of peaches.

"Get the saddle offa that nag," the outlaw mumbled, his words muffled by the fruit he was munching.

"Obviously you have failed to notice that I am injured," the southerner muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Just commenting on what an obtunded fellow you are," Ezra drawled dryly.

"Oh. Thanks."

Ezra grinned to himself, pleased by the small coup, even if his opponent was unaware of the victory. Methodically, he set about unsaddling Chaucer. The horse seemed to understand that it was important to stand still, and didn't engage in his usual antics. When the cinch was loose, Ezra gave the saddle a tug that brought the tack tumbling into the mud. Before he had a chance to pick it up, Foster cuffed him in the back of the head, sending him into Chaucer.

"Be careful with that," the man growled. "Kain't sleep on it if it's covered in mud."

Ezra didn't bother pointing out that the gear was soaking wet. He couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to. The collision with Chaucer's flank had popped his shoulder back into place, sending fire down his arm that quickly changed to numbness. He grimaced and rolled the joint experimentally, pleased when sensation started to return to his fingers.

His relief was short-lived as Foster yanked him forward and secured his wrists with a rope carried on the saddle.

As he jerked Ezra's arms to be sure the knot would hold, the outlaw sneered, "Think that'll keep ya from trying' anything stupid?"

Ezra winced -- his shoulder was sore despite being back in place -- and brought his hands up to wipe them across his tired eyes. He hurt all over and was thoroughly exhausted. He had no idea how his friends were faring, and he'd had it with the whole mess.

"Sir," he drawled, "to an accomplished addlepate such as yourself I rank myself a mere amateur." He grinned at the silence that followed.

"You playin' games, Dandy"? Foster finally murmured. "I think yer talkin' ‘Merican, but I kain't understan a worda what you say."

"Not at all surprising. A common problem," Ezra responded. "I learned to ‘talk' while I was in my pre-adolescent years."

"Oh..." There was another pause, then Foster shoved Ezra back. "Got me a idea, Dandy. Put that saddle back on that horse."

Ezra sighed, too weary to argue. *Why do I have to get the stupid ones?* he thought, carefully lifting the saddle and tossing it onto Chaucer's back, not an easy task with his hands tied. The horse flinched and tossed his head.

"Get that cinch good and tight, lawman. I don't want no problems."

"Of course not," Ezra mumbled to himself. "‘No problems' would be too much to ask for." He pulled the cinch tight then stepped back.

"You like that there nag pretty good, doncha?" Foster said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Reckon he likes you?"

Ezra remained silent, fighting rising panic. Anything that happened to him would be the result of his own stupidity, for not staying in New Orleans among civilized people. But the horse was a different matter. Chaucer would follow him blindly, and while he never hesitated to show his disapproval, Chaucer always did what Ezra asked of him.

"Well, Dandy? Wadda ya think?" Foster tied the free end of the rope to the saddlehorn.

Ezra watched warily, wondering what the man was up to. Chaucer wouldn't drag him more than a few paces. It would be painful. There was no fooling himself on that point, but the horse was too well trained to drag anyone far, and once he stopped Ezra would be free, with his dependable mount.

"I won't get no rest if I gotta worry ‘bout what yer schemin'," the outlaw continued. "Gotta do somethin' with ya. Let's see how much yer horse really does like you."

Ezra braced himself, waiting for the smack to Chaucer's rump that would make the horse bolt forward.

Instead Foster raised a large hand and pushed against the smaller man's chest. Ezra stumbled back, trying to catch his footing. As the bigger man continued to push, he dug his heels in, suddenly aware of what Foster had planned.

"No..." It was a whispered plea, uttered before he could stop it. Foster grinned wickedly as Ezra surged forward, the instinct for survival taking over, dulling his pain and lending him the strength to fight. But he was no match for Foster's bulk, and he felt the ground falling away beneath him.

"G'night, Dandy," Foster growled as a final shove sent the lawman over the edge of the cliff.

Ezra screamed.

+ + + + + + +

"Why do the wolves howl?" Amy asked as the echoes of yet another plaintive cry died away.

Buck shrugged, although he knew the girl couldn't see the gesture. "Reckon they're lonely," he muttered, stifling a yawn. The rain had finally stopped, but Buck had been unable to find anything dry enough to start a fire. The contents of his saddlebags were relatively dry however, and he had managed to help Amy change out of her wet dress and into his spare shirt that he had secured around her waist with his bandanna. A dry pair of socks were helping to keep her feet warm.

Buck was cold and miserable. He had wrung some of the water out of his shirt and coat, for what little good it did.

Another cry pierced the stillness, a tormented, anguished wail. Buck shuddered. The cry had been human. There had been other shouts earlier in the evening, distant echoes, but nothing like this.

Buck wondered what poor soul was suffering.

"He must be real lonely," Amy muttered.

"Huh?" Buck was trying to shake the feeling that one or more of his friends was in trouble. "Oh, yeah. Real lonely," he repeated, distracted. "His heart's hurtin'."

"You think papa's heart's hurtin'?"

Buck sighed. Sometimes the innocent insight of children was downright annoying.

"Reckon so. He's probably missin' you somethin' fierce."

"Reckon I miss him, too," the little girl replied, snuggling against Buck's chest. He wrapped his coat around her and gave her a brief hug.

"If'in you was my little girl, I'd move heaven and earth to get to ya, Skeeter."

"Why do you call me that?"

"What?"

"Skeeter."

"'Cause yer as cute as a june bug." Buck ruffled her hair.

"What's a june bug?"

"The one that comes out in June."

"Which one"

"Which one?" Buck paused. *Kids* "Why, the cute one, of course."

"A caterpillar?"

"Yeah. That's it. A caterpillar."

"Which one?"

"Waddya mean which one? Caterpillar's a caterpillar."

"Is not."

"Is so."

Another howl drifted to them. Amy shifted in Buck's arms. "I'm lonely for mama."

"There's folks I'm lonely for too," he mused. "Been a good many friends that've gone before me. Some of 'em I felt powerful strong for. But I got friends -- good friends -- that take away some of the hurt."

"Am I your friend?" Amy asked, the words muffled by a yawn.

Buck smiled. "Reckon you are."

"That's good." The girl drew her legs up and tucked her feet into the warm pocket where Buck's knees crossed, then snuggled her head under his chin. She was asleep in minutes.

The big man clung to the child, allowing old memories of similar encounters to wash over him. Adam would often curl up on his lap as he sat in Chris' oversized rocker and beg him to tell stories. Despite Sarah's warning look -- a glare that rivaled her husband's -- it didn't matter how the story started because Adam was invariably asleep before he got to the good parts.

Buck smiled. Sarah had changed both Chris and himself. But she also had the good sense to know when they needed to blow off steam.

And so the trip to Mexico. It had been cleverly disguised as a business trip, but they all knew that the ultimate goal had been a wild binge.

Or so Buck had thought. So when Chris had suggested heading home as soon as the horses had been sold, Buck laughed and finally coaxed him to the saloon, where he soon abandoned his friend for the company of a plump lady and her 'virgin' daughter.

And while he had spent the night 'teaching' Chastity the finer points of lovemaking, Chris had retreated alone.

Then the next day...Buck squeezed his eyes shut and unconsciously held the girl tighter. He let out a hitching breath that was almost a sob.

+ + + + + + +

Vin's head snapped around at the sound of the tormented wail. This was not Nathan or Chris. The tracker hadn't realized that the distraction that had made it possible for him to grab Alonzo had been his friends. Not until he heard Nathan's first cry.

It had taken every bit of his training and experience to turn a deaf ear on his friends. As the shouts had continued, he'd realized that the Apaches were baiting him, and he'd shut his mind down, not wanting to imagine what they might be doing to the gentle healer.

But this last cry wasn't Nathan. It was far more powerful and anguished. And Vin knew instinctively that it was one of his friends.

He pulled Diablo to a stop and felt the child in front of him stir. He crooned softly and the boy settled down. It had taken a good bit of talking to convince Alonzo that he wasn't in danger, and Vin wasn't really sure the boy believed him yet. But he had finally stopped fighting and allowed Vin to put him in the saddle.

Vin was glad that he had found the boy. There was no disputing that. But now, as his horse danced nervously under him, awaiting direction, the child was an added responsibility he didn't need. His duty lay in getting Alonzo to the safety of town, to reunite him with his father. But the knowledge that two and possibly more of his colleagues were in trouble tore his loyalty.

Another cry, not as loud, but still as tormented, galvanized him to action. With light pressure of his knees, he turned Diablo in the direction of the shouts and urged the horse forward. The horse settled into an easy lope. The animal had the same uncanny knack as his rider to sense obstacles despite the darkness, and pick his way around them.

So when Diablo came to an abrupt stop, Vin paid attention and didn't push him. Instead, he swung from the saddle, almost forgetting the child on front of him. He pulled the sleeping boy from the saddle then wrapped him in his coat and laid him on a relatively dry spot. It took only a few steps for the tracker to realize that they were at the edge of a cliff. He'd gone as far as he could tonight. All he could do was wait...

+ + + + + + +

A rattling, hacking cough exploded unbidden, sending sharp needles of pain through Josiah's chest. He tried to drink some water but the pain in his throat prevented him from swallowing, so he only gagged on the liquid and started coughing again. He clutched his sore chest and doubled over.

"You sick, Josiah?" JD asked. The kid was checking the bonds on the prisoners yet again, not wanting to deal with the ramifications of another escape. While the men were still shackled, Ezra had the key, so JD had put the criminals back to back against a tree and wound a rope through and around the chains so many times even he wasn't sure he'd get it undone again.

"Sick of lookin' at yer ugly face," the older man growled. "You ever consider bein' a girl?"

JD started to laugh, until Taylor spoke up. "Almost as pretty as one, if'in y a clean 'im up. What's stoppin' ya, preacher?"

Josiah shot JD an apologetic look and started to reply, but was seized by coughing again.

"Got ta get ya warm and dry," JD muttered, although execution of the idea was an impossibility.

"You could snuggle up with 'im, kid," Taylor leered.

JD ignored him, instead turning his attention to Evans' injured leg. He used his knife to cut away the material and expose the wound.

"Got nice soft hands there, sheriff," Evans purred. "I can just imagine what they'd do to a man..."

"Throttle him senseless," JD growled in reply, "if he had any sense to begin with." Evans sneered but remained silent as the young man bound the wound. "Now don't go dyin' from that before they can hang ya," he said with a wicked grin.

"Pretty and funny," Taylor commented. "Just the way I like 'em."

"From what I hear you like 'em helpless and near dead."

"Takin' the fight out of 'em makes it easier. You should try it some time. Why, you can even..."

JD backhanded the man viciously before he could finish, feeling a shock of regret along with the supreme satisfaction. He did manage to bite back the scathing replies that tumbled into his head.

"JD."

The sheriff looked over at Josiah, sure the croaked word would have been snapped if the other man's full baritone had been working. He swallowed and pulled his shoulders back, bracing himself for the scolding he knew was coming.

"Taylor's lucky," Josiah whispered. "I'd'a done worse and begged for penance later."

JD grinned and relaxed. "Reckon a rope'll shut him up soon enough. What about you? There anything I can get you?"

Josiah looked at him and sighed, a rasping sound that turned to a cough. "A steak dinner, a strong drink, a warm bed, Miss Melanie..."

"Melanie? The widow Geisler?" JD laughed. "Who'da guessed?"

"Tell anyone and I'll show you what righteous retribution is all about."

"Your secret's safe. Now get some sleep and have nice dreams."

"Nice dreams are no fun son," the big man quipped as he slumped against his saddle and pulled his hat low to fend off some of the drizzle. JD settled next to him and finally shifted so that his back was against Josiah's fevered side, relaxing into the warmth. He put his head down but couldn't sleep, his gaze wandering to the two outlaws.

+ + + + + + +

Misery loves company...

Ezra would gladly go back to being just miserable. The flash of disbelief that had coursed through him at Foster's final push had quickly been replaced by sheer agony as first his weight had jerked rudely on his shoulders and wrists when the length of rope had played out, then again as his body slammed against the rocks. He had slipped several feet as Chaucer fought the sudden weight on the saddle, then everything had become blinding pain.

Of course, in some sick joke, the fates had decided that the respite of oblivion was not to be his, and so he dangled, listening to the blood pounding in his ears over the rush of water somewhere below, and the occasional scraping of Chaucer's hooves on rock.

Time twisted into a meaningless kaleidoscope of pain and numbness. Ezra's mind sought relief, but with no way to follow through he could only scream his anguish and frustration in silence. A faint tint of gray on the horizon signaled the coming dawn. Ezra squeezed his eyes shut, praying for Foster to pull him back up and end the torment. Or even just shoot him. Either way, it would be blissfully over.

He dropped another few inches as Chaucer moved forward again. Pebbles rained on him, and at the nicker from above, he looked up. His horse's head hung down, visible over the rim of the canyon, silhouetted in the growing light. While he was glad to see a friendly face -- or muzzle-- the implication was not good. The animal had been ridden all day, then been made to support his weight all night. He was tired and losing ground. A few more steps and...

"Hey, Dandy!" Foster's call broke the quiet. "Yer horse must not like ya as well as ya thought. He's 'bout ready ta drop ya inta the river. 'Course I reckon that'd mean he'd go with ya." There was a pause, followed by the sound of a gun cocking. "Reckon he's a sorry nag anyway. Wore out. Be merciful ta put him outta his misery."

Across the canyon Foster's shout startled Vin out of the light slumber he'd been in. He blinked once to clear the sleep, then looked around. Alonzo was still asleep next to Diablo. The horse was looking intently across the narrow gorge, his ears pricked forward to catch the sounds. Vin followed his gaze.

And felt his heart skip a beat.

Although there was still very little light he could make out the shapes of a man and a horse on the opposite rim. Occasional words drifted to him on the breeze. As the meaning sank in, Vin finally spotted the form dangling below the horse.

Ezra...

The sharp click of a hammer being drawn sent a chill through him. Instinct kicked in. Without taking conscious aim, Vin raised his mare's leg and fired. Foster crumpled to the ground.

"Hey, Ezra!" The call came from a familiar voice, but that wasn't enough to convince the conman that he wasn't in Hell. He had to be. He'd heard the shot. He was dead, and his Hell was to hang here for all eternity, unable to feel the hands that were his life's blood and his downfall, yet acutely aware of the rest of his body.

"Standish!"

Tanner. That was the rest of his Hell, then, to be dammed to an eternity of listening to the Texan's uncultured drawl. He closed his eyes and tried to respond, but his mouth was too dry.

He chuckled at that. His clothes were still soaking wet, allowing a chill to settle in, yet his mouth was drier than Death Valley.

Above him, the horse slipped and Ezra glanced up. Chaucer in Hell, too? That wasn't right. The horse had earned better, putting up with him all these years.

So there must be another explanation. He looked around, but his field of vision was limited to the cliff in front of him and the first rays of dawn breaking further down the canyon.

Without warning, Ezra dropped again, several inches this time. His gaze swung upward and he was startled to see a shod hoof slip over the edge of the cliff before disappearing again.

Chaucer was slipping...

Vin recognized the problem immediately. The horse was losing its battle to stay upright with Ezra's weight pulling against the saddle. Another few minutes and the horse would go over, along with the gambler. There was only one option -- one that Vin didn't like. The odds were atrocious. But Ezra was going in the river one way or the other...

Even as the report of his shot was still echoing through the canyon, the tracker jumped into the water.

+ + + + + + +

Chris held Nathan's hand, urging the other man to control his breathing. Soon after Vin's escape the healer had mercifully passed out and the Apaches had quickly lost interest in them. After a few minutes Chris had cut Nathan free and eased him to the ground. They were alive, which meant hope, but it also meant they were being kept for a reason. And based on what Vin had once told him, it wasn't good. While women and children were often killed outright, the opportunity to toy with a warrior and bring about a slow, painful death was a great honor.

So he and Nathan were still alive to watch as the first tinge of dawn touched the sky. Nathan was in no shape to go anywhere in a hurry and the damned Indians were so confident that Chris wouldn't abandon him that they were hardly paying the pair any attention.

"Go," Nathan breathed.

Chris shook his head. "Give it time. We'll make it to the horses." It was the only hope they had of escape. "How you doing?"

"Holdin' up, considerin'."

"Considerin' ya had none of that snake oil you try ta shove down the rest of us?"

Nathan chuckled. "Reckon I'd deserve it. Good thing Buck ain't here. He'd try 'n give me some'a his 'love potion'."

"That he would," Chris replied, glad that the healer was trying to joke.

A distant gunshot broke the stillness. Nathan flinched and several of the Indians jumped up. They all looked in the direction the shot had come from. Again the report of a rifle echoed through the air.

"Sounds like Vin," Nathan whispered. Chris nodded idly. His attention was elsewhere.

Then Nathan saw it too -- the opening they'd been waiting for. "Chris..." It was an order and a plea.

"Then let's go," the gunslinger said, leaving no question. He would not abandon the healer. Nathan sucked in a breath and nodded, taking the hand that Chris held out. He bit his lip to stifle his groan as fire shot through the wound in his side. But he'd endured worse as a slave -- had run despite repeated lashings and a broken leg. His freedom had been hard won, and the same determination rose in him again.

He'd be damned if he gave up now.

Chris hooked an arm under the healer's elbow, taking most of the wounded man's weight. They made it to the horses unscathed and Chris jerked the tether line free before cupping his hands to give Nathan a leg up onto Nahleen. As he laced his fingers into Midnight's mane a shout of alarm rose in the camp.

"Go!" he shouted, spinning his horse to follow Nathan's mare. Midnight jumped forward but not before the first of the Indians reached him. He kicked out as the savage lunged, sinking a knife to the hilt into Chris' thigh. The gunslinger cried out, startled more than hurt, and sent the Apache spinning away with a vicious backhand. He dropped the leadrope in the process, but it didn't matter. Midnight bolted after his stable mate and all Chris had to do was hang on.

+ + + + + + +

Carefully, reluctantly, JD shook Josiah. The big preacher had only just fallen asleep, but had earlier made the younger man promise to wake him so that they could leave at first light. They hadn't anticipated Josiah's persistent coughing keeping him awake all night. JD had been too nervous to sleep, although he had gleaned some small pleasure in making sure that Evans and Taylor didn't sleep either. Whenever one of the outlaws would doze off, he'd smack them lightly or kick the bottom of their boots. That way at least, they would be on an even field.

Now, with the horses saddled, it was time to wake Josiah.

"'siah..?" JD shook the preacher again and dodged the arm than irritably swiped at him. His own head ached and his body felt as limp as Buck's...JD smiled to himself, cutting off the thought.

"Let 'im sleep," Taylor called, laughing. "'Nother few hours might do 'im some good."

JD ignored the taunts and shook Josiah again, harder. "Josiah!"

The blue eyes blinked open, then focused. "Wha..?"

"Dawn. Time ta go."

Josiah moaned and rolled over, then sat. He immediately closed his eyes and clutched his head.

"You okay?" JD asked, feeling the other man's forehead. His hot skin felt good against JD's cold hands, and the way that Josiah pressed into his touch told him that the opposite was true as well.

"You're nothing short of a saint, John Dunne," Josiah croaked, moving the boy's cool hands to his flushed cheeks.

"And you're sicker than you let on," the kid chuckled back. "Think you can get mounted up while I get our friends going?"

Josiah nodded, then rose, leaning heavily on the smaller man. When he reached Prophet's side Josiah pushed away and grasped the stirrup for support.

JD shook his head. It would be nothing short of a miracle if they made it to town in one piece. If JD could remember where they were. And where the town was. Or the river at least. All the running around had him disoriented, but he wasn't about to admit it. In the light of day he could get his bearings. Until then, he'd have to pretend. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. It wasn't like he didn't have good role models. For now he would pretend that he was Ezra, cool as a cucumber, without a care in the world. Later he would pretend that he really knew his way around like Vin.

"You first," he said to Evans as he untied the ropes binding the outlaws to the tree. When Evans didn't stand fast enough, JD yanked him up.

"Ow! My leg, you son of a bitch! Watch it."

JD ignored him. "Just mount up." He gave the larger man a shove, stealing a glance at Josiah, who was still trying to get a foot in the stirrup. Evans howled in pain as he swung his injured leg over the saddle and JD rolled his eyes.

"Keep it to yerself," the young man grumbled, then secured the outlaw's hands to the saddlehorn.

"Hey, now," Evans protested. "I'm wounded. What if I pass out? I could fall off..."

JD reached up -- he had to stand on his toes -- and grabbed the front of the outlaw's shirt, pulling him down so that they were face-to-face. "Don't pass out," he growled, sounding very much like Chris Larabee without pretending.

Evans jerked away and sat up. "Ain't you got a duty to protect me?"

"The only duty I 'got' is to get yer sorry hide to Carson Falls in one piece so they can try you and hang you." Evans opened his mouth to reply, but JD had already gone to collect Taylor. The older man wisely chose not to try the sheriff's patience and climbed into the saddle sedately.

As JD went to gather Milagro's reins he noticed that Josiah had yet to mount. The big man had his left foot in the stirrup and was hopping on his right as Prophet stood quietly. As JD approached them the gangly sorrel swung his head around to look at him and rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Josiah?"

The preacher started, swinging backward to look toward JD and would have fallen if the young man hadn't caught him. "Huh?" He blinked and looked around blankly.

"You need some help there?" JD pushed Josiah closer to the horse, unable to support the man's weight alone.

Josiah hopped again and grabbed Prophet's mane. "'M fine," he grumbled before his right leg gave out altogether and he crumpled. His left foot slipped through the stirrup, helping to hold him up as JD caught him again.

"You two look like a carnival act!" Taylor shouted, but fell silent at twin replies of, "Shut up!"

JD finally managed to get Josiah righted again, then somehow up into the saddle. He shook his head as he climbed onto Milagro then gathered the leads to the outlaws' horses.

"Let me take ‘em, son," Josiah said, coming alongside Milagro. When JD started to protest the older man continued. "If somethin' happens, yer gonna have ta deal with it. You need yer hands free."

JD nodded slowly. It made sense -- too much sense. The potential responsibility was nerve wracking.

Before handing the leads to the preacher, JD tied the ropes together close to where they attached to the bridles. As Josiah took them, he smiled. Even if the bandits escaped, they wouldn't get far with the horses tied together.

When they finally set out, JD let Josiah to ride ahead of him. It served the dual purpose of allowing the sheriff to keep an eye on their charges while putting the burden of choosing the trail on the older man.

The group had just settled into a comfortable pace when the pounding of hooves startled them to full alertness. JD barely had time to draw his pistol when two riders barreled around a bend and charged straight for him. He checked his action as recognition dawned.

"Chris?" The horses skidded to a stop as icy blue eyes met confused hazel ones. Larabee slumped, then toppled to the ground. At least Nathan had the courtesy to smile before he too lost his battle with consciousness.

Josiah coughed and JD almost laughed. But neither man was moving, and the thunder of approaching hooves continued. JD spurred Milagro around his friends, forming a barrier between them and the oncoming danger. He drew one of his pistols and swallowed hard, mustering his courage. Seconds later a band of Indians rounded the bend. As the number of attackers registered in his mind, JD began to fan the pistol. He could hear Buck's admonishment ringing in his ears, but faced with such overwhelming odds...

Four of his shots hit true, killing two of the Apaches outright. He dropped the empty Lightening and drew the second. He started to fan the hammer again, but the Indians were retreating, not prepared to face armed men and driven back by the addition of Josiah's fire.

JD relaxed and released the breath he'd been holding. He glanced behind him to Josiah, who was slumped in the saddle, coughing. The two outlaws were quiet for a change.

"Need ta get moving before they come back," the older man mumbled, his voice raspy.

JD laughed. He couldn't help it. There had been so much tension. And with Chris and Nathan lying in the road, their horses without proper tack, savages so close by, Josiah barely able to sit upright...It was absurd.

*Need ta get moving.* JD chuckled again, then swung off Milagro.

"You all right, boy?" Josiah asked.

JD nodded absently as he reloaded his cast-aside gun. When it was reholstered, he turned his attention to the men lying in the mud. They both looked up at him. "Josiah says we got ta leave," he said. "You all right?"

"Leg hurts," the gunslinger muttered, struggling to sit.

"Could be this," the young man chuckled, indicating the knife in Chris' thigh. He pulled the blade free before Chris had a chance to tense up. The older man let out a gasp and shot JD a harsh look.

"Wrap that good an' tight," Nathan whispered.

JD looked at the healer, thinking that he must not be as bad as he looked if he was up to dolling out medical advice.

"I got it, Nate," he said. "What about you?"

"Get me on the horse an' I'll be fine."

JD frowned. Easier said than done. "Take Milagro," he finally said, helping Nathan to his horse. The injured man managed to struggle into the saddle, then leaned forward, clutching the horn. JD than turned to Chris, who was standing, holding Midnight's mane for support. Without asking, JD gave the gunslinger a leg-up. The older man accepted the assistance without comment, but patted JD on the shoulder after he was settled. The kid offered him one of his pistols and nodded once as Chris slipped it into his waistband.

JD swung easily onto Nahleen's back, then took the lead for the small group.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra had only a few seconds to realize that he was falling before the river swallowed him. He fought to gain the surface, but with his hands bound it was a losing battle. He managed to kick his way to the surface, but only took in a mouthful of water before the current pulled him down again. The next time he kicked at the water, his already injured leg hit a rock and he felt the bones snap. It took everything he had not to scream and expel what little air he had left.

Ezra struggled to the surface again and sucked in a gasping breath of air. As he was churned back below the water, he pushed aside his confusion. What the hell was he doing in the river anyway?

Not that it mattered. He had to survive that before he worried about the how's and why's. He'd been in tougher spots, though he couldn't quite bring one to mind right now. Maybe Maude could think of something. Even though she'd rarely been around as he was growing up, she somehow seemed to know everything about him. And what she didn't know she fabricated.

Ezra realized that his mind was drifting, wrapped in lassitude. It would be so easy just to open his mouth, to breathe in water, end the pain...

Maude may have raised a fool, but she hadn't raised a quitter. He'd be damned if he gave up now...

Kicking out with his good leg, Ezra fought toward the surface again, trying desperately to ignore the burning in his oxygen-deprived lungs. He broke the surface for a split second -- hardly long enough to get a breath -- then a wave washed over him and he started to sink again.

He struggled to find precious air, but his body was shutting down. His leg kicked too weakly to be effective. His bound hands slapped the water to no avail.

The odds just weren't in his favor.

+ + + + + + +

Vin dived again where he'd last seen the gambler go under. Thank God for the damned red coat. Without the garish garment to focus on he never would have found Ezra in the dim dawn light. His lungs started to ache, but he refused to surface just yet. As he groped in the water, his hand finally closed around soft material. He latched on and kicked his way upward.

He finally broke the surface, and Vin had to hoist Ezra's head clear of the water. He felt a jolt of relief when the conman took a gasping breath. He pulled his burden higher, then wrapped an arm around his chest and started swimming for shore. The water finally shallowed and Vin was able to get his feet under him and stand. He dragged Ezra backward until they were clear of the river, then collapsed.

For a long moment Vin lay on his back, Ezra cradled in his arms, sucking in large gasps of air. In a minute he'd go fetch Chaucer -- they'd come up on that side of the river -- and figure out how to get back to Alonzo. He hoped the boy was all right, still asleep. He'd done what he'd had to, but that didn't make the choice right. Or easy.

Finally, Vin took a centering breath and started to move.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra relaxed back into the soft pillow that was cradling him, soaking in the warmth, afraid to move for fear of what might happen to his already pained body. He closed his eyes, willing sleep, when the pillow moved and dumped him unceremoniously on the rocks. He stifled a groan and looked up. Vin Tanner was blinking down at him, water dripping from his hair.

"Ah, so this is Hell," Ezra drawled.

Vin smiled. "Hell no, it ain't Hell. Reckon Beelzebub is gonna hafta wait on you a bit."

"Yes, well surely you're bound for Hell as recompense for the atrocities you've visited upon my garments."

"Now, Ezra. This here frilly shirt made me feel like a real gentleman while I was savin' yer sorry southern hide."

"I don't suppose you could have saved it sooner?"

"Yer welcome, Ezra," Vin mumbled, sitting back on his heels. "You up ta gettin' outta here?"

"If it means avoiding that Foster fellow, I'll do whatever is necessary."

"Foster's dead. I plugged ‘im."

"Dead?"

"Yep."

"As in deceased? No longer amongst the living?"

"Yep. He was fixin' ta shoot Chaucer. Figured it'd be a waste ‘a decent horseflesh, so I shot him."

Ezra sank back. "In that case, just leave me here to die. It's the merciful thing to do."

Vin laughed, then frowned when Ezra's eyes closed. The sun broke above the rim of the canyon, allowing him a good look at the gambler's pale features. He started to run his hands over Ezra's body to check for injuries.

"Stop pawing me, Mr. Tanner. We're not that familiar."

"Fine, then. We gotta go. I left Alonzo back a ways with Diablo."

"Alonzo?"

"The McLauren boy."

"Ah, yes..." Ezra nodded slowly as memories returned. "You left that beast of yours to watch the child? I don't suppose he tells bed time stories, too."

Vin snorted then hauled the gambler to a sitting position. "Shoulda let you drown," he grumbled. He hooked an arm under Ezra's and started to stand. The conman sucked in a breath and collapsed back to the mud.

"What?"

"I'm afraid my leg is perhaps sprained," Ezra groaned.

Vin pulled up Ezra's pant leg and let out a low whistle. The deformity was unmistakable where broken bone ends overrode one another. "It's busted, Pard. Ain't gonna be walkin' on that."

"I just told you I ‘ain't fixin' ta go nowhere nohow'."

"Fine," Vin muttered in mock disgust. "Reckon I'll go fetch that worthless horse of yers." Vin stood slowly as Ezra watched with a jaded eye.

"You're welcome to him," Ezra drawled. "Never was much good to me anyway. Besides, you already have my clothing."

Vin held his arms out, displaying the wet, muddy shirt. "Such as it is."

"It was pristine when I loaned it to you."

"And that was right neighborly of ya, Ez."

The conman groaned. "I don't know which is worse, Mr. Tanner. You accusing me of being 'neighborly' or calling me 'Ez'."

"Reckon neither fits, huh?"

They fell silent for a moment, then Vin looked across the river. The canyon wasn't nearly so steep here. A short way down stream it leveled off to a plain. "I'll get Chaucer. Figure out a way to get ya on him."

Ezra smiled slightly and nodded, content to lay back and let the low sun work on drying him out.

+ + + + + + +

Amy tugged on Buck's sleeve where his arms wrapped around her and little Alonzo to hold Romeo's reins. He had found the boy sitting on Vin's coat at the edge of the canyon, crying. Diablo was nearby, nibbling on what grass he could find. The tracker's rifle was tossed in the brush, but there was no sign of Vin. Buck had found his way there following the gunshots he'd heard earlier that had unmistakably been the mare's leg. It had taken a bit of looking -- he was no tracker -- to piece together what had happened.

Chaucer was on the opposite rim, his head hanging nearly to the ground. Buck could see the body lying next to the horse, but he couldn't tell who it was. But he was pretty sure it wasn't Ezra. Tracks showed that Vin had gone into the river, and the only explanation that made any sense was Ezra. But how or why the gambler had decided to go for a swim was beyond him.

So, mumbling about being a gunfighter, not a nursemaid, he had gathered the children and the horse and started downstream. He'd even called to Ezra's ornery beast, and the darned thing was trailing him.

Amy tugged his sleeve again. "Mr. Buck?"

"Yeah, darlin'?"

"Alonzo's hungry."

Buck couldn't help but grin. They'd had this discussion earlier. There was no food, so there was no point in discussing the matter. He had made the girl promise not to broach the subject again. But to do so on behalf of her brother...

"Tell Alonzo he'll have to wait. We don't have any food."

"He says to make some. He wants griddle cakes."

"Me too. But I don't see no griddles around. Do you?"

With an exaggerated sigh, Amy leaned back against Buck's chest. "Any," she said.

"Any, then. I don't see any griddles around. How do you know Alonzo wants griddle cakes anyway?"

"He told me."

"I didn't hear him say noth...anything."

"You just didn't listen right. He ain't ate nothing all day."

"Hasn't eaten anything," Buck grinned. "And neither have I."

"Hey, Bucklin!"

Buck's head shot up and he looked around at the call, finally spotting Vin across the river.

"Vin! What you doing over there?"

"Havin' a picnic. What's it look like?"

Buck ignored the irritated tone in the tracker's voice, glad to have finally met one of his goals. "Well, good, ‘cause we've been discussin' food, and we're right hungry." He could almost see the younger man's sneer.

"Ezra's down stream a ways. He's broke up some, but alive." Vin took hold of Chaucer's bridle as the horse reached him. The animal rubbed his mouth into Vin's hands, then shook his head as Vin slipped the bridle off and dropped it in the mud. The horse started to follow the familiar man as Vin walked along the bank opposite Buck.

+ + + + + + +

In his dream, Ezra was in the deep, soft caress of a feather bed, blanketed in warmth and stillness. He had everything he could have wished for -- he owned The Palace, on the main thoroughfare in Charleston. It was the most lucrative establishment of its sort in the South, catering to the wealthiest and finest clientele.

And in this particular dream, he had finally managed to woo Miss Lisette Beaufille to his bed. The wisps of their passionate encounter still swirled around him. He actually couldn't recall any of the particulars, except that he'd felt like he was drowning, drawn below the water by the turbulent love-making. He was exhausted now, reveling in the euphoria of life.

Apparently though, Miss Beaufille was not as worn out as he, because now, in his dream, she was nuzzling him, working her way from his chest up to his face, blowing lightly on his cheeks and eyelids. He brushed her aside. He wasn't interested right now.

"Not now, Cheri," he murmured. "Perhaps in a bit."

The feather-soft touch persisted. He stirred slightly and pushed the girl away again. "Miss Beaufille, please. A man needs his rest."

The petite brunette responded with a soft snort, then sneezed in his face. Ezra groaned and forced his eyes open.

And found himself staring into gaping nostrils at the end of a very long nose. Huge chocolate eyes blinked at him.

Ezra groaned and tried to roll away, but pain flared through him. Wisely, he chose to remain still. The horse sniffed him again.

"G'way, Chaucer," he moaned, then the horse's face was replaced by a human one.

"Don't you mean ‘Miss Beaufille'?" Buck chuckled.

Again Ezra groaned. This had to be Hell. His dreams were splendid, holding the promise of wealth and contentment. But reality...Reality hurt. Not only that, but the damned ladies' man was hanging over him and Ezra's body refused to move so that he could escape.

"Ezra?"

The snapped word startled the gambler, bringing his eyes to focus on the untrimmed mustache and stubble. "Huh?"

"Eloquent, ain't he?" another voice asked, then Vin was beside Buck, staring down at him.

"How ya doin' there, Ez?" Buck asked. "You seem distracted."

"Nothing of the sort," Ezra replied slowly, trying to regain some of his composure. "I was merely ontemplating the strange combination of events that brought us to this point."

"Uh huh," Buck replied, frowning. "How ya feel?"

Ezra tried not to laugh. It would hurt too badly. But the question was so absurd. "The little toe on my left leg does not hurt," he drawled. "I see you've taken possession of my horse, Mr. Tanner."

"Hell, Ez, that 'horse' followed Vin here like a lost puppy," Buck laughed. "Never seen the like."

"However the happenstance..."

"What was that piece of hardware doin' in his mouth?" Vin asked.

Ezra frowned as unpleasant memories were brought forward. "That was Foster's doing."

"Well, it's gone now."

"For which Chaucer and I both owe you a debt of gratitude. Perhaps a nice bucket of oats when we get home?"

A smile crossed Vin's face and Buck laughed. Then silence fell and Ezra started to worry about the somber expressions that both men assumed.

"Uh, Ez," Buck finally said, "we need ta move ya, get ya into some shade."

"'M fine here," Ezra mumbled. "Leave me."

"'Fraid we can't do that, Pard," Vin said. "Wouldn't want ta have ta tell yer ma that we abandoned her ‘baby boy'."

The tracker got behind him and helped him to sit up. Ezra groaned and closed his eyes against the pain. "How far?"

"Not very. River's not so deep here. There's a stand of aspens on the other side a ways. Got no choice."

"No flask, neither," Ezra grumbled, suddenly realizing that he would be no help at all in the tracker's efforts to get him on a horse. His hands were swollen and his whole upper body ached fiercely. He was so stiff that he could barely move. And his leg...Pain didn't even begin to describe it.

"Nope. No flask. Gonna hafta go dry," Vin said. Ezra chuckled. "What's so funny?"

"Your choice of words, Mr. Tanner." Ezra raised a still-soggy arm.

Vin nodded. "Reckon yer right."

"You two comin'?" Buck called. He had the horses and was waiting with the children.

Ezra nodded. "Shall we?"

+ + + + + + +

"Move and you're a dead man," a voice snarled close to Buck's ear. He had gone back to the river to fill canteens after they had made camp and Ezra had been settled. Now, the feel of cold steel on his neck caused Buck to freeze.

"Now, where are they?" the voice continued.

"Who?"

"Your friends," a second voice snapped, "and my children."

"Why then, you must be..." Buck started to turn, but a sharp blow to his side dropped him to his knees.

"I said not to move, mister, and I mean it."

"Sorry," Buck gasped. "It's just that..."

Another blow to the same spot quieted him. "Shut up. We don't want to hear it. Just show us where they are."

Buck nodded as he was hauled to his feet, then pushed forward. "Don't do anything stupid, mister," the gunslinger muttered.

"Don't you listen? I said to shut up."

Buck grunted as the rifle struck his back.

"Besides, seems to me you and your friends have done enough stupid for all of us. Now move."

Slowly, Buck walked toward the camp, his hands raised, both to placate the men and as a warning to Vin. He walked as heavily as he dared, hoping the tracker would hear and realize that something was wrong. When they broke into the small clearing, Buck was relieved to see Vin facing them, mare's leg leveled, shielding Ezra and the children.

"Tell me who you are and why I shouldn't drop ya," Vin drawled almost casually.

Then Amy jumped up and bolted forward. "Papa!" Vin made an unsuccessful grab for her as she dashed past, then lowered the barrel of his rifle as her cry registered.

Buck felt the man behind him tense, and stood stock-still. The men were farmers, not gunfighters, and that made them volatile and unpredictable, especially when children were involved. Amy ran past, and Buck cautioned a look behind him.

John McLauren was a small man, fair-haired and bespectacled. Tears were starting down his face as he picked up his daughter.

"You," the other man, a large redhead, ordered Vin, "move away." He gestured with the rifle he held.

Buck realized that he could have easily taken the farmer down. Instead, he spoke softly. "Listen, mister. Our friend over there is hurt real bad..."

"Isn't that a pity. After what you did to Kate and...I hope he lives long enough to hang. Now move away from the boy."

Vin started to take a step, but as Alonzo ran past him, he caught the child by the collar and picked him up. The man behind Buck flinched and McLauren gasped.

"Take it easy," Buck whispered.

"Put the boy down, or I swear to God...I saw what you did to that baby. You deserve ..."

Vin went suddenly pale and set Alonzo down. "Now listen, mister," he said in his quiet drawl, "I didn't have nothin' ta do with that."

The big man behind Buck suddenly lashed out with the rifle again, hitting him across the shoulders and bringing him to his knees. "Reckon it must have been you then?" he snarled. "Or your friend over there?"

"Now just a minute..." The rifle fell again, catching the ladies' man across the temple. Vin started to bolt forward, but the roar of a gun shattered the stillness. For the space of a second nothing stirred. Then Vin's knees buckled and he fell.

John McLauren gripped the smoking pistol tightly, resisting the urge to drop the weapon. He had never shot at a man before. Pray God he'd never have to shoot one again. But as he stared at the still form of the long-haired man that he held responsible for the deaths of his family, a small sense of satisfaction crept over him. This could never make up for what had been done to Kate and his babies, but it was a start.

Then he noticed Amy staring intently at him and his resolve hardened when he realized that she was wearing a man's shirt. God only knew what these men had done to his Angel.

"Get that one tied, Sean," he muttered, gesturing to Buck. He waited to see that he was obeyed, then turned his attention to Amy. She was crying.

"It's all right, Angel. It's going to be okay. You believe that, don't you?" The child sniffled and nodded. "You stay here with Uncle Sean for a minute, okay?" She nodded again and wrapped her arms around her little brother. John fought tears. This was all that was left of his little family, of his hopes and dreams...Maybe even his humanity. He'd shot one man, and it had been easy. Another would be nothing now...

He pushed the thought aside and cautiously approached the man he'd shot. He was face down in the mud and a small puddle of red was starting to form under his chest. John forced down bile and toed the man experimentally. He glanced quickly at the man in the garish red coat laying unmoving a few feet away, then leaned over and grabbed the dead man's shoulder. But as he turned him, the man suddenly came to life, and as McLauren tried to stumble back, he was grabbed by his coat and pulled down. The feel of a pistol under his chin made the bottom of his stomach fall out and the sound of the hammer being drawn back nearly made him pass out.

"Listen, and listen good," the wounded man panted.

John couldn't help but notice his pallor, and the thin sheen of sweat on his face. If he just waited...

"We're the law from Four Corners. We was trying' ta help..."

The man's grip was weakening, and suddenly John fell back, sitting in the mud. He scrambled forward and brought his knee across the man's gun arm, pinning it to the ground.

"Did he say they're lawmen?" his brother called. The redhead was holding a pistol to Buck's head with one hand and holding the children behind him with the other.

"What are they doing out here then?" John countered. "Why didn't they take the children to town? And what happened to Amy's..." He broke off and glanced at the man beneath him. "Tell me that, Mister Lawman."

Vin didn't have an answer. Didn't know why the others hadn't waited for McLauren to come home, or at least gone to town. Didn't know what had happened to Ezra, or where JD and Josiah were...He took a deep breath, groaning at the pain that coursed through his chest. "Can't say, mister. I was trackin' the Indians that took yer boy..."

"Haven't thought up a good lie yet?" McLauren wrestled the pistol from Vin's weak grip. "We'll just get you to Sheriff Ornelas and let him figure it out. He stepped back a safe distance, then glanced around, suddenly at a loss. He hadn't thought he'd ever find his children, much the less the outlaws who'd kidnapped them. He was a farmer, not a fighter, and had no idea what to do now. He looked at his brother-in-law, who shrugged.

"I'd best get the horses, John," Sean said. "Watch yourself."

John nodded, taking another step back so that he could cover all three men and watched for a moment as Sean and his children disappeared into the trees where the picket line was concealed.

Buck groaned and rolled over. The little man swung the pistol his way. Slowly, the gunman looked toward Vin, relieved to see that he was breathing and conscious, although barely. From the spreading circle of blood, Buck could tell that the wound was in the tracker's upper left chest. It was a struggle with his hands tied, but Buck managed to sit up.

"Mister, you mind it I tend my friend's wound?"

"Like you tended my Katie? And Allen and...?" the man's voice broke.

"We tried ta tell ya. We're lawmen. We heard the shots, but didn't get there in time, and fer that I'm mighty sorry." He took a slow breath, fighting nausea. "Why, when that there man found the baby it nearly tore him apart." Buck nodded to Vin who blinked slowly at them. "Wrapped the body in his own shirt. That's why he's wearin' the fancy thing a' Ezra's."

McLauren's expression softened slightly -- Buck was getting through, or at least casting doubt.

"Now, if we're right, and yer wrong, you could be in a world a' hurt. Maybe nobody'll fault you for shootin' that mangy lookin' tracker. Hell, I thought about it a time'er two myself. But lettin' ‘im just bleed..."

John backed up uncertainly. "All right, but don't try anything."

Buck chuckled. "What'm I gonna try?" He indicated his bound hands.

"No, sir. I'm not that ignorant. If your friend wants help, he can untie you." The farmer had been fooled once, rudely reminding him that these were indeed outlaws. He wasn't about to let that happen again. He watched as the big man crawled over to the other. The fancy-dressed man was still unmoving. He stepped closer to get a better look at him. The man's refined features were marred with bruises. His leg was splinted and he looked like death warmed over.

"What's going on here?"

John turned to face Sean, who was leading the horses. Amy and Alonzo sat together on their father's plow horse. Their wide-eyed, frightened looks tore at John's heart. "Just letting him tend the wound." When he saw the look on his companion's face, he continued, "Don't say it." He slid his rifle back into its scabbard, then shoved Vin's mare's leg into his saddlebag. He pulled the children out of the saddle and hugged them tightly. They both clung to him and again he fought tears. Amy started to sob.

"Papa, mama..."

"I know, Angel, I know." He smoothed her hair back. He had so many questions, but the girl was so young. "Can you tell me what happened?" The words were out before he realized it, blurted in his agony to have answers.

Amy nodded. "We were in the garden, and the men came..." She looked uncertainly toward Buck and Vin before continuing. "They were yelling, and mama said to run. Then there were other men..." She took a hitching breath. "Mr. Buck took me on his horse, then it got dark, and cold, so he told me to take off my dress..."

"Stop, Angel," John snapped. He couldn't stand anymore. He softened his tone. "Who's Mr. Buck?"

Amy sniffled and pointed to the big man. McLauren saw red as anger flared through him. If the children hadn't been there he would have throttled the man with his bare hands. He settled for hauling him away from the wounded man and throwing him to the ground.

Buck looked up in alarm. He'd managed to stop the flow of blood from the wound, and once he'd gotten a look at it, it didn't seem so bad. But as he was bandaging it, McLauren had gone crazy.

"I can only pray that there is a God who will exact retribution on your kind," the farmer snarled.

Buck bit back a gasp as the angry man roughly tied his wrists behind his back. His back and shoulders ached from his beating and the lump at the back of his head was trying to wrap itself around his brain and squeeze the life out of him. Not in a position to resist, Buck relented.

"Get them mounted up," John ordered. "I want to get home..." He hesitated and glanced at his children, then at Buck, misinterpreting the fear on their faces. "Get them behind bars where they can't hurt anyone else."

Sean nodded and started to haul Vin up. The tracker let out a low moan and Buck surged to his feet.

"Bucklin..." The word was almost a whisper, but effectively checked Buck's action. Vin managed to climb onto Diablo and sat quietly as his hands were tied in front of him.

When Sean turned toward Ezra, Buck took a step. "Let me..." John grabbed his shoulder and jerked him to his knees. For a little guy, the farmer sure was strong. "Listen," Buck pleaded. "You wake him up, yer gonna scare him. He'll come up fightin'."

"Too bad," Ross growled. "Maybe you should have though of that before you killed my sister."

"But we didn't..."

Ezra's sharp cry caught their attention. Sean had the gambler by the lapels and was roughly shaking the smaller man. Ezra's swollen hands locked around the thick wrists as he tried to scramble backwards. The splint on his leg gave way and loose bone ends grated against each other.

Buck lunged upright again, and Vin swung his leg over his horse's neck and tumbled to the ground. John brought his shotgun up, stopping the two lawmen.

"Ezra!" Buck yelled. "Ezra! Hold still!"

Sean pinned Ezra's shoulders to the ground and swung a leg across his hips to hold the gambler still, which only served to make him panic and fight all the more.

"Ezra! Stop fightin'!" Vin called. "Jest relax." The last was a quiet plea, relaying pain and defeat.

Relax? Are they insane? There's a boulder on my chest and someone's trying to tear my leg off...

Ezra forced his eyes open, realizing that the boulder was in fact a moose of a man with a mass of red hair and cold gray eyes. His sluggish brain tried to categorize the man to decide what indiscretion he'd committed to incur the man's wrath, and just how much of a threat he posed. But every time a coherent thought came into his head, pain flared through his body, overriding everything.

"Ezra! Hold still!"

Buck. He thought he'd said the word aloud, but even he didn't hear it. He renewed his fight, determined to get to his friend.

"Please, Ezra, jest stop."

Vin's soft plea penetrated the pain and haze, and Ezra relaxed. While the moose still sat on him, some of the pressure had eased up, and Ezra could breathe again. The moose's lips moved -- he must be talking -- yet Ezra couldn't hear the words. He took a shaky breath, blinked a few times, and concentrated.

"Are you going to hold still now?"

Ezra grinned. He could understand moose. He nodded. "If you will kindly remove your bulk from my person," he rasped. The moose moved back, then helped Ezra to sit. The gambler was still confused, but as long as the pain was tolerable, he could deal with the rest.

"You're going to get on that horse," the moose said, gesturing toward Romeo. Ezra blinked and shook his head. "We can do this easy or hard," the moose threatened.

"Just do it, Ez." Buck's weary voice drew Ezra's attention. The ladies' man was on his knees a few paces from Vin.

"My shirt, Mr. Tanner..."

Vin smiled, shrugged, then winced. Ezra's gaze swung back to the moose.

"You listening, mister? I'm going to help you get on that horse. You understand? Or are you a blithering idiot?"

Of course he understood. Didn't everyone speak moose? "Sir, I do not blither, and I take umbrage at the implication." He chuckled, then frowned when no one else laughed. "All right, then, but my leg is a bit sore. If I were a horse they'd have shot me long ago. Put me out of my misery." He chuckled again, not quite sure why the moose insisted on looking so serious. Maybe mooses didn't have a sense of humor.

Or was it meeces?

"Get up!"

Ezra started at the snapped order, allowing the moose to take most of his weight and pull him upright. He bit back the moan of agony as he was almost bodily flung into the saddle. At least some mercy was shown when the moose tied his wrists together, leaving a small bit of play in the ropes binding his swollen hands.

Chaucer protested as Buck was ‘assisted' into the saddle. Ezra smiled. Even an uncultured moose should be able to see that an animal as fine as Chaucer would have nothing to do with someone as unrefined as Buck. But the sorrel finally settled down and Vin struggled back onto Diablo. The three lawmen had no choice but to go along as Sean Ross grabbed the leads to their horses and started toward Carson Falls, trailed by John McLauren on his new plow horse, holding his children protectively.

+ + + + + + +

JD trailed behind the other riders where he could keep an eye on them while acting as a buffer should they be attacked from the rear. And they'd need it if the Apaches caught up. Josiah was in the lead, still ponying the outlaws' horses. But the big man was slumped more than usual, holding the horn and bobbing with each of Prophet's steps. The coughing was becoming more frequent and the man looked miserable.

Chris rode behind, struggling to stay upright and alert, his hand dropping unconsciously toward the wound in his leg. But he did manage to stay focused on the outlaws' backs, and had made it clear that he would shoot at the first sign of trouble. In the swing position, Nathan was as protected as possible. The healer was fighting to stay conscious and was barely able to stay on the horse. JD noticed his head falling to his chest and nudged Nahleen up beside Milagro.

"Hey, Nate." Nathan's head jerked up and he looked slowly toward JD. "Josiah's got an awful cough. What should we do for it?"

For a long moment the healer was silent and JD thought he hadn't heard. Then Nathan nodded. "Peppermints..."

JD brightened. He'd just been trying to help keep Nathan awake, but now he could help Josiah too. "Gee, I got some ‘a that in my saddlebags. Thanks, Nate."

"Horehound," Nathan continued as though he hadn't heard. "Lobelia, Indian turnip, blood root, elecampane..."

"You got any of that stuff?"

"No."

"'K. You all right, Nate?" It was so odd for the healer to be sick. Somehow he always managed to avoid injury, and JD had begun to think that he was blessed or something.

"I think I'll live," Nathan mumbled. "Hurt too bad ta die."

JD chuckled, glad at the attempt at humor. "I'm gonna give Josiah some peppermints," he said, digging into the saddlebags behind Nathan. "I'll be back in a sec, okay?" Nathan nodded slowly and JD kicked Nahleen into a jog. As he passed Chris, the gunslinger smiled slightly and nodded. JD acknowledged him with a tip of his hat, trying not to let his pride show too much. He was still amazed that he'd been accepted by this group of men and couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride as he kept watch over them.

"You doin' all right, Josiah?" he asked as he rode alongside Prophet.

Josiah turned red-rimmed eyes toward him and sniffled. "No." He started to cough.

"Nathan said that peppermints would help," he said, opening the small bag, then frowning. The bag was soggy but the candy was a mass of sticky goo.

Josiah chuckled, then coughed again. "Just break off a chunk."

JD grimaced and broke free a piece of the candy that he handed to Josiah. He looked at his hands in dismay, then shrugged and licked his fingers.

"Feels good on my throat." Josiah grinned and licked his lips. "Thanks, kid."

"'S'okay." JD had just reined Nahleen in to fall back behind Nathan when the horse's head shot up and her ears pricked forward. Beside him Josiah straightened as JD tensed. They stopped and Chris rode up beside them. JD's hand fell to his pistol as a group of riders rounded the bend ahead of them. He relaxed when he recognized Buck, Vin and Ezra among the group.

Then he tensed again as he noticed all the things that were amiss -- Ezra on Romeo, alive at least, but looking worse than Nathan, Buck's arms behind him, the blossom of crimson on Vin's chest...

Chris drew his pistol, but JD caught his wrist. The older gunslinger let out a low growl, but JD held tight.

"I'm Sheriff Dunne from Four Corners," he announced to the large redheaded man at the front of the group. "What are you doing with those men?"

"I'm Sean Ross and that's my brother-in-law John McLauren, with what those men left of his family. We're taking them to Leakley to hang."

JD urged Nahleen forward a few steps. "Listen, mister. I don't know where you got your information, but them three men are my deputies and that farm was attacked by Apaches."

Ross blanched as JD moved forward again. "Deputies? But they...Amy..."

Using the man's confusion, JD pressed his point. "You'd better not be responsible for their state," he growled as the man withered under his stare. He rode past without looking him in the eye and reined in beside Buck.

"Your deputies?" Buck murmured quietly as JD cut him free.

"Yeah. Now shut up and behave," he whispered back, before continuing to Ezra.

The gambler blinked at him, then grinned. "I see you've met the moose."

JD started to ask what he was talking about, but when Ezra's expression went blank and his eyes started to roll back, JD slipped off Nahleen and caught him as he fell from the saddle. JD landed hard in the mud with Ezra's weight on top of him.

"Gracefully done, Dunne," the southerner drawled before passing out.

+ + + + + + +

Chris stalked the edges of the campsite -- as much as he could on his wounded leg. He shoved the pain aside as inconsequential. He was seething at the treatment that his men had received. JD's ‘deputies'. Even in his dark mood the words brought a smile.

Deputy Buck, Deputy Vin and Deputy Ezra. He chuckled lightly. Fortunately all three would recover to torment the boy.

The urge to punish the men who had harmed them -- had shot Tanner even though he was surrendering -- was strong. But the husband and father in him told him that he would have done no differently if he'd been in their shoes. Hell, he'd done worse with less provocation to men who had done less to people he didn't even know. And the farmers were punishing themselves, as well they should.

When Chris had called a stop for the night the two men had gone to extremes to make the more gravely wounded as comfortable as possible. Then Sean had hunted down a few rabbits that he had skinned and cleaned. Provisions had been pooled and the lawmen had had their first decent meal in days.

The small fire was starting to die down now. Amy was back in her own clothes, curled on a bed roll with Alonzo, clutching her doll. The two farmers were awake, watching over the children.

Josiah was talking quietly with Buck. JD's peppermint candy and some willowbark tea that McLauren had brought were helping to make the preacher feel better.

Buck was doing okay as long a he didn't stand up, but between his sore muscles and the knot on his head, his balance wasn't very good. He had laughed the injuries off, insisting that the ladies would flock to him and compete for ‘comfort duty'. He was even bemoaning the fact that he hadn't been shot instead of Vin because ‘bullet wounds get so much more sympathy than just bruises'. The tracker was darned lucky and probably didn't even appreciate it.

Between Buck and Josiah, Ezra and Nathan were huddled together, deep in sleep. Neither man had been particularly coherent, and Ezra kept rambling about mooses (or was it meeces?). Again, Chris found himself chuckling softly. They still weren't sure what had happened to the gambler, but the bruises and cuts on his body promised an interesting tale.

Chris circled the camp to where JD was changing the dressing on Vin's wound. McLauren was lucky that the tracker would be all right. Vin had already put the incident behind him and had encouraged Buck to do the same.

Still, it had been close. Chris hated the way the group had been fragmented and subsequently battered. Evans and Taylor were contrite now that they were heavily outnumbered, and without Foster to lead them. JD had secured them elaborately with the chains and rope, insisting that they weren't going anywhere on his watch.

The gunslinger was proud of the way the kid had taken charge, even though he'd never tell him that. He didn't want JD getting cocky. Cocky could get a man killed.

Quietly, Chris slipped closer to the two men. Vin was listening patiently while JD excitedly told him about how he'd recaptured the outlaws with just his pocket knife and an empty pistol. Chris smiled. The kid really had done all right. He started to move on, but JD's tone stopped him.

"Uh, Vin?" All of a sudden JD sounded very serious.

"Yeah, kid?"

Chris grinned. The tracker was no more than a kid himself.

"Where are we?"

There was a pause, then, "Outside, I reckon."

"Funny. No, c'mon. I mean it. I'm the only one that ain't hurt or sick..."

Vin reached up and touched the still-tender bruise on the young man's temple.

"That's nothin'," JD muttered. "But what with chasin outlaws an' all, I'm all twisted around."

"'Bout two o'clock, look for the Hunter. Reckon Carson Falls is ‘bout a day's ride that way."

"The Hunter? You mean Orion?"

"Yep. Middle star of his belt. Should get ya to the river by noon. Follow that."

"Thanks, Vin."

"No problem, kid."

"Oh, and Vin..?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell Chirs I asked, okay?"

"Never, JD."

Chris suppressed his laugh as the young man rose and started a circuit around the camp.

"And don't you ever let on, Cowboy," Vin mumbled.

"Never," the gunslinger answered as he moved closer and sat next to the younger man. "Looks like the youngin's growing up."

"Yep. Make a good man one'a these days."

"Yep."

They sat in silence as the camp gradually settled down. Soft, steady breathing told Chris that Vin had fallen asleep, and a quick scan of the camp showed the gunslinger that even JD had succumbed to the long hours without rest. Chris rose stiffly to prowl his territory. The only other man awake was McLauren. The farmer was staring intently at his children. He met Chris' gaze and the two men nodded briefly. Both were watching after their families and neither would sleep tonight.

+ + + + + + +

JD started awake and silently cursed himself. He hadn't meant to fall asleep at all. Of course it'd been two days since he'd had any significant rest, and with it being so quiet...

He rose hastily and looked around the camp. The fire was just smoldering embers now. Everyone was quiet, except for Josiah, who was hacking and snoring, an odd combination of sounds. But at least he was getting sleep.

JD glanced at the sky -- at Orion, hanging in the south. Damn! He scrambled over to Buck and carefully fished out the rogue's ‘heirloom' pocketwatch. The dim light of the fire showed that it was four thirty. Damn! He shoved the watch back into its pocket as Buck rolled over and captured his hand.

"Not now, Daisy. Ol' Buck's gotta sleep," the older man mumbled. JD tugged his hand loose and shook his head.

The sky was alight with stars, blinking at the city-raised boy. JD never tired of gazing at the sparkling jewels, wondering what was up there and if someone was looking down at them wondering the same thing. He spotted Orion easily, spread across the sky just below Taurus. He closed his eyes and pictured what he knew of the land. It wasn't much, but as he drew the map in his head, he realized that the river ran east and west here. There was no way to miss it if they just kept heading south. He smiled. He really wasn't so lost after all. He noticed Chris staring at him and crossed the camp to sit next to the gunslinger.

"Fell asleep," he confessed.

"Happens."

"Yeah, but...I'm supposed to be watchin'."

"I watched."

JD shook his head. "Yer hurt."

"Ain't hurt that bad, kid. And a man can't do everything himself, especially when he has friends ta help him. But yer awake now, so I reckon I can get some sleep." The older man handed JD the cheroot he'd been smoking and got up, then walked over to where Vin was sleeping. He sat next to the tracker and leaned against a tree, pulling his hat low.

For a moment, JD watched silently, then shrugged and got up to check on the picket line. Sometimes this whole gunslinger business really baffled him.

As he counted the horses, JD took a long drag of the cheroot. He gulped in shock and started to cough. The thing was awful. He dropped it and ground it into the mud with his heel. With a shake of his head, he continued around the camp. As he passed the farmers and children, John McLauren glanced up at him, then rose and walked toward him.

JD groaned. He wasn't in the mood to talk to the man. He'd heard what had happened to Buck and Vin, and was still seething that the men hadn't even been given the chance to explain themselves.

"Sheriff," McLauren said quietly. JD nodded silently. "I just wanted to thank you for what you and your men did for my family."

"'S okay," JD mumbled.

"You have no idea...What it's like to come home and find them like that, I mean. I keep thinking that maybe if I'd come home sooner, or waited a day before going. Or insisted that they come along..." He paused and JD remained silent.

The young man glanced at Chris. He did have an idea.

"Then I start to wonder if they suffered. If they were afraid. It eats at me to think that my sweet Kate tried to fight for her children, and then died not knowing..." John's voice caught.

"She told us," JD said, suddenly needing to help the man. "If she hadn't held out until we got there, we never would have known about...Alonzo." The farmer stared at him, searching for the truth. JD had to continue. "You couldn't a' known. They might'a been waitin' for ya ta leave. Man can't live by what might happen. Ya had ta leave some time. Can't be makin' a livin' otherwise. Even then, somethin' bad coulda happened on the way to town. Rockslide, flood, tree fall over..."

McLauren chuckled. "All right, son. I take your point."

JD shot the man a sharp glance. He was getting tired of being called ‘son'.

"I'm just sorry I let my anger get the better of me," McLauren continued, ignoring the look. "I was looking to hurt something, and your boys got in the way. I'm sorry for that, and I'll take whatever punishment the court wants to give."

"Don't suppose that'll be necessary," JD blurted out. He really couldn't speak for the others. "Reckon Amy and Alonzo's lost enough already. Don't need ta grow up without their pa, too." JD felt the man beside him relax.

"I'd be mighty grateful. Not for me, but for the children. They..."

JD shushed the man mid-sentence. Something had caught his attention. He wasn't sure what, but something didn't feel right.

"Mr. McLauren, go on back to yer kids. And wake Mr. Ross. We might be having trouble in a bit." The farmer nodded and walked casually away. JD crossed to Chris and kicked the gunslinger's boots lightly.

Chris' head shot up and JD gestured toward the tree line before moving on. He woke Vin with a light shake. The tracker started awake, instantly alert, and glanced around the camp. His hand tightened instinctively on his mare's leg.

Chris struggled to his feet, then held out a hand to Vin, who winced as he stood. The younger man glanced around the camp, his keen eyes taking in everything. He faded into the trees before Chris could stop him. The gunslinger swore softly, then moved quietly to JD, who was waking the other men.

"What is it?" he asked as he helped Buck to stand. Nathan was already on his feet next to Josiah, who was standing protectively over Ezra.

"Dunno," JD replied, reaching out to help stabilize Buck, who was swaying precariously. "Just have a feeling."

"Feeling?" Chris growled. "You rousted the camp for a feeling?" He shook his head and glared at the young man, who suddenly found the smoldering fire very interesting.

"You sure it wasn't that stew ya had last night?" Buck kidded, reaching out to feel JD's forehead.

The kid's head shot up defiantly. "Sorry. Didn't know that gut feelin's was limited to you old geezers."

Chris chuckled. At least the kid had conviction.

Ross joined the group. "What's all the fuss about, Sheriff?" Buck laughed.

"I think what the ‘sheriff' wants," Chris said with not a small bit of sarcasm in his voice, "is to get an early start. Isn't that right, ‘Sheriff'?"

JD frowned, then nodded. "Yeah. Let's get mounted up. I want to make Carson Falls today, get some proper medical care for my deputies."

Buck snickered and Josiah fell into a coughing fit.

Then Vin materialized from the shadows. "I miss somethin'?" Chris shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Then we'd best get movin'," he said. "All the activity scared ‘em off, but not far and not fer long."

There was silence for a few seconds, then Nathan finally spoke. "What're ya sayin', Vin?"

"They was out there, just like JD thought. I figure about fifteen. If we hadn't a started movin' when we did, they'd ‘a attacked." Someone let out a low whistle as JD straightened.

"Saddle up," Chris ordered, and the men scrambled to comply.

+ + + + + + +

JD's heart was pounding so hard in his chest that he could barely breathe. The steep walls of the canyon seemed to be closing in on the group. Indeed, the track had narrowed to the point that they were forced to ride single file along the river, and JD was bringing up the rear.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath and focusing on anything but the target he imagined was painted on his back. How many rivers and canyons had they been through in the last few days? He pictured the terrain in his head and finally gave up. The convoluted paths they'd taken since leaving home were too twisted and crossed. And the annoying tingling between his shoulder blades wouldn't leave him alone, even to the point that he'd flinch now and again in anticipation of a bullet or an arrow.

He'd been shot before. That wasn't a pleasant memory. Mad Maddie. He shuddered and flinched again. Bullets were no picnic, but judging from Nathan's appearance, neither were arrows.

The healer was on Nahleen now, but using JD's saddle. The young man was more than capable of riding bareback, especially on Milagro, but there was no way that Nathan could have stayed mounted without horn and stirrups for support. Nathan had tried not to show his pain, but it had been all too obvious when he'd been helped into the saddle.

JD chuckled to himself, recalling Josiah's earlier attempt to mount. The preacher was doing better now, but still had occasional fits of coughing. Even so, he had been well enough to tease the McLauren children with JD's peppermints before giving them a generous chunk of it.

JD's gaze wandered to the back of the small man on the big horse, who had his children cradled protectively in front of him. McLauren might be a little guy, but when the children were with him, he seemed taller than Nathan and broader than Josiah. The young sheriff wondered if Chris had been the same way when Adam was around.

The gunslinger was at the head of the group, riding Midnight bareback, too stubborn to accept a saddle from Ross or to take one from one of the outlaws. JD couldn't imagine the hardened gunfighter as anything else. But occasionally Buck would tell him stories of their past, of Sarah and Adam, of Chris as a doting, indulgent father, playing ‘horsie' in the living room with a giggling boy, or worse yet, bedecked in an apron, covered in flour, taking over the duties of a sick wife. It just seemed so foreign to the man that the other peacekeepers knew. It seemed unlikely that a man could change so much.

But stranger things had been known to happen. Look at Ezra.

The gambler was sitting stiffly on his prized mount and best friend. But JD knew that was changing -- that the self-proclaimed loner was integrating into the group of men, and even the ‘backwater' known as Four Corners.

JD knew Ezra was in pain. The splinted leg dangling free of the stirrup was evidence of that. His nimble, gifted hands were swollen so badly that he couldn't even hold the reins. But the main evidence that the southerner wasn't feeling well was the buckskin coat he was wearing. His own wool coat was battered beyond use and Vin had insisted that Ezra use his coat. The tracker didn't need it. He had a fever to keep him warm.

Despite the contrary story that his pallor told, Vin insisted that he was ‘fine'. JD wondered just what it would take for the former bounty hunter to admit to actually being injured. His strength and stamina never ceased to amaze JD and he always felt a twinge of jealousy toward the survival-savvy man.

As for strength and stamina...JD chuckled as he looked at Buck. He was envious of the rogue too, but for completely different reasons. Even though Buck appeared to be wanton in his relations, JD knew that he adored every woman he'd ever been with, and that puzzled the young man. But then, JD didn't have near the experience -- any experience, he corrected -- and women were still pretty much a mystery to him.

JD breathed a sigh of relief as the canyon finally opened up to gentle, rocky hills with occasional trees dotting the area. At least here they had somewhere to go. But as the day wore on, the group became weary. They were close to town and stops became less frequent. The young sheriff had to keep reminding himself that they were still in danger.

When the attack came, McLauren panicked and bolted. His only thought was getting his children as far away from the threat as possible. So he dug his heels into the plow horse's sides and steered away from the Indians, Sean close behind him. Buck and Vin saw them at the same time and gave chase.

JD whirled to face the onslaught. He drew both pistols and screamed at the top of his lungs as Milagro surged forward. He silently thanked the fates as the band of Apaches split, leaving him facing only half a dozen, but retracted his thanks as he realized that the rest were after the others.

There wasn't anything he could do about that now though, because he was about to be overrun. But he just had to stall long enough so that Josiah had a chance to get Nathan and Ezra to cover before these Indians got past him. He raised a pistol and opened fire, hoping the others' memories of him would be good.

Then Chris was beside him, lips curled in a maniacal grin as they silently bore down on the attackers.

JD was glad the gunslinger was on their side.

Josiah dragged Prophet around and spurred him toward an outcropping of boulders, shouting to Nathan and Ezra to follow. The reins to the outlaws' mounts jerked tight as the animals struggled to keep up. When he reached the rocks, he swung from Prophet, tossing aside the reins to the other horses and turning his attention to Nathan and Ezra. If the outlaws wanted to take their chances on their own, that was their choice.

Ezra clung to the saddlehorn with both hands, long since having given up on the reins. Chaucer had the good sense to stick close to his stablemate and paced himself so that he didn't outrun Nahleen. Each jarring stride sent excruciating pain through Ezra's leg and he actually considered giving himself up to the Apaches. Scalping seemed quick and merciful compared to this.

Chaucer stumbled -- more of a mis-step then an actual stumble, but it was enough to send Ezra pitching forward in the saddle. Only his grip on the horn kept him from falling. But it threw him off balance and he bit back a cry as the splint came loose. He shoved his good foot deeper into the stirrup for support and hung on. Then Chaucer slid to a stop and Ezra was being lifted from the saddle.

Next to Chaucer, Nathan jumped from Nahleen while she was still moving, gasping silently at the pain in his side. He crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, and barely managed to make it to his feet as Josiah hauled Ezra off Chaucer. He struggled to keep up, but even with his burden Josiah outran him easily. Nathan hadn't even made it upright before he staggered behind the boulders and dropped to his knees beside Ezra and Josiah, trying to catch his breath.

"You stay here," Josiah ordered as though they had an option. He clutched his pistol tightly and broke cover, running for another boulder, firing over his shoulder at the Indians as he ran. He smiled grimly as he was followed. As he dropped behind one of the huge rocks, he flipped open the Schoefield and shook free the spent cartridges. He hazarded a peek around the side of the sandstone, dismayed to see that two of the Apaches had turned back.

His gamble hadn't paid...

"McLauren!" Buck shouted with all his might. Romeo was gaining fast on the lumbering draft horse, but it wouldn't be soon enough. Another few strides and they would be desperately far from cover of any kind. And there was no chance to outrun the Indians. "Hold up!" If his words reached the farmer, they went unheeded.

"What the hell is he doing?" Vin shouted, sitting back in the saddle in an effort to cushion the jarring to his side. All they could do now was keep stride with the inexperienced farmers and be there to back them up when all hell broke loose.

And break loose it did. McLauren's mount stumbled and went down on its knees, sending the man and his children tumbling to the ground. Ross' horse dodged around them and the other man jumped from the saddle, dropping to a knee and bringing his rifle to bear on the attackers. Vin landed beside him, grunting in pain, his mare's leg leveled and steady. Buck continued past them to John and the children.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Buck snarled as Romeo danced next to the farmer.

McLauren stared up at him, still stunned from the fall. He had twisted his body to take the brunt of the impact from the children. The blonde man struggled to his knees with Amy and Alonzo clinging to his neck, crying. He scooped the boy up as he stood and handed him up to Buck, then flung Amy onto the saddle behind the gunslinger.

"Go! For God's sake, save my children," he pleaded. Buck cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Vin and Sean, who were about to be run down, then nodded to the farmer. Romeo lunged forward.

Even with the reins hanging loose on his neck, Milagro ran a true course, matching Midnight stride for stride. The two lawmen had eliminated four of the opposition by the time they met. Chris tossed aside his empty pistol and launched himself off his horse at one of the remaining Indians. His pent-up anger finally had release, and the wound in his leg was not a handicap as he wrestled the man to the ground. He was almost disappointed when the man was knocked senseless by the fall. Panting, Chris knelt with his knee in the man's back and looked for JD.

The young sheriff twined his fingers in Milagro's mane and leaned low over her neck. He clucked quietly to her, urging her to more speed. He pulled alongside the Indian pony and the Apache riding the roan looked over at him. For a fleeting second hostility surged between the two, then the Indian grinned and screamed, kicking his horse in the sides. JD let out a loud ‘whoop' of his own as the two raced side by side.

Gradually, Milagro pulled ahead, sweat flying from her lathered sides. JD was bent low, one with the horse, the enemy forgotten, replaced by a fellow equestrian, enjoying the thrill of the race. He gathered himself as they approached a fallen log, clinging easily to his horse's back as she cleared the obstruction. The Apache wasn't so lucky.

JD heard the other horse go down and straightened, pulling Milagro around in time to see the Indian pony somersault, pitching its rider to the ground. It was evident as soon as they stopped moving that both horse and rider were dead. JD shook his head in remorse before turning back toward the others.

"I can't believe that son of a bitch deserted you," Taylor chuckled. "Saved his own sorry hide."

Nathan reached across and hauled the outlaw forward by the front of his shirt. "You just shut the hell up or I'm gonna toss you out there with yer buddy." He slammed Taylor back into the rock as the man's eyes strayed to Evans' crumpled form. The other outlaw had darted from cover as soon as Josiah left, only to be cut down a few steps from the boulders.

"How is Mr. Sanchez faring?" Ezra asked, his voice subdued by pain.

"Can't see from here," Nathan answered. He chanced a glance in the preacher's direction. "Damn!"

"Yes?" Ezra shifted to try to see what had Nathan upset, but his leg held him still.

"Two of ‘em are headed this way."

"That is a dilemma. Are you armed?"

"Indians got my gun."

"Dandy." Ezra reached into the pocket of Vin's coat and dug out his derringer. "One for you and one for me?" He cocked an eyebrow at the healer.

"Don't go gettin' all dramatic, Ezra," Nathan grumbled. "Josiah'll take care of ‘em."

"He ain't even alive still," Taylor said. "Haven't heard no shots inna few minutes. And that peashooter ain't gonna stop no redsikn."

The peacekeepers ignored him. "We need to move," Nathan muttered.

"Not much of an option," Ezra breathed, nodding toward his leg. "I'm afraid I'm not going anywhere."

"We need to move," Nathan repeated, grabbing Ezra under the arms and pulling him backward. The southerner hissed in pain, but used his good leg to help provide momentum. He kept the small pistol clenched in his fists. Progress was slow, and Taylor lagged with them, complaining at every step.

"You ain't never gonna out run ‘em like this," he growled. "May as well just stay put and save yerself the pain."

"Just shut up," Nathan snapped. They were almost to another outcropping that would provide more defensible cover when the Indians rounded the first group of rocks. Instead of attacking, the two men just stood for a moment, grinning at their prey. Finally, Taylor couldn't hold still any longer. He jumped up and ran, his frightened scream cut short by the arrow that pierced his throat.

"They're staying out of range," Ezra whispered. The derringer was only effective within a few feet. The two Apaches were advancing slowly, their leering grins showing no intimidation. One of them knocked an arrow and brought his bow up. Ezra unconsciously pushed back into Nathan, keeping his gaze steady. He barely flinched as the arrow flew at them.

Nathan sucked in an involuntary breath and gripped the gambler tighter. "Ezra!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Yer a dead man." Ezra glanced at the arrow that was neatly placed between his side and Nathan's leg, pinning him to the ground through the buckskin coat. "Vin's gonna kill ya."

Ezra groaned. "I just hope he gets the chance." The Indians stepped forward, both of them knocking arrows.

"They're wearin' us down," the healer whispered.

"More's the loss, then Mr. Jackson. If only they realized that we are worn down!"

Another step. Another fatal shot to the jacket. Ezra flinched. But they were playing a game of bluff, and he was an expert at that. He stared steadily at the men, watching, judging. When he saw the small waver in the gaze of one of the Apaches, he knew instinctively that the next shot would not be harmless.

He squeezed the trigger. The man yelped in pain, dropping the bow and clutching the wound high in his left chest. The Indians hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. They charged.

The roar of Vin's mare's leg was simultaneous with Ross' shotgun. Two of the Apaches were unseated, one dead instantly, the other belatedly as his neck snapped on contact with the ground. Vin managed a second shot, bringing down a third attacker before the remaining two galloped by.

McLauren was just pulling himself to his feet when he noticed the Indians in pursuit of Buck and his children. Without conscious thought, he grabbed Diablo's reins and yelled at the animal, swinging into the saddle as the horse bolted into a full gallop.

Buck cast a quick glance over his shoulder, pushing Romeo to more speed. The big gray was running with all his heart, sensing his master's urgency. A bullet creased the massive muscle in the horse's hind-quarters and he faltered. Buck could feel the change of cadence and knew the race was lost. Now it was a matter of preparing.

He hauled the horse to a stop and swung from the saddle. He lifted the children down.

"Mr. Buck?" Amy gazed up at him, her eyes wide, tears trickling down her face.

"It'll be all right, darlin'," he crooned, wiping her cheeks. "You hang onta this for me." He removed his hat and set it on the little girl's head. She nodded somberly and took Alonzo's hand, her doll clutched tightly. Buck straightened and stood in front of the children as the Indians bore down on them. He raised his pistol and fired the remaining shot. One man fell, but the other continued.

Buck took a deep shuddering breath. His own life was of little consequence, but he regretted the loss of the children. But as the Indian pony was about to run them down, its rider tumbled to the ground, and without guidance, it veered off course, passing them harmlessly. McLauren skidded to a stop mere feet away, dropping his still-smoking pistol. He exchanged a quick look of gratitude with Buck before he jumped from the saddle and embraced his children.

Josiah thrived on hand-to-hand fighting. He found it far more satisfying than just shooting a man from a distance, and it equalized a man. Of course it wasn't always the most desirable option, especially when the odds were against you, but sometimes it was unavoidable.

He had still been reloading when the Indians had attacked. The empty pistol had creased the side of the first man's face, taking an eye out and eliminating that threat. But the remaining Apache matched the preacher in strength and stature. He lunged at Josiah with a large knife, cutting a gash in his arm. Josiah ignored the wound and charged him, wrapping his muscular arms around his waist. He pushed the Indian back until he hit a boulder with a resounding umph! driving the air from the man's lungs. Before the attacker could recover, Josiah backhanded him.

The Indian lashed out with his foot, catching Josiah in the knee. He stumbled away from the pain, unable to avoid the fist that slammed into his chest, robbing him of air. He crumpled under the other man's weight, a surge of rage washing over him as the Apache's hands closed around his throat. The preacher brought his knee up, landing a sound blow to the Indian's back, then rolled to the side, dislodging him. Now in the superior position, Josiah struck the man repeatedly across the face until he no longer moved.

For a moment, Josiah sat back, sucking in air in great, heaving breaths, his whole body trembling with residual adrenaline. Then he remembered Nathan and Ezra. Surging to his feet, he retrieved his pistol, hastily shoving fresh rounds into the cylinder as he trotted back toward his friends. He rounded the boulder and nearly tripped over Taylor's still form. His attention was riveted to the two men on the ground and the Indians about to overtake them. Pushing aside any idealistic credos, he fired twice, hitting the Apaches in the back.

For a moment the silence echoed as loudly as the gunshots had, then Josiah strode toward Nathan and Ezra. They stared up at him, not speaking. Josiah chuckled.

"Brother Vin is not going to be happy about his coat," the preacher boomed, pulling the arrows out of the garment.

"Believe me, Mr. Sanchez, it was a mercy killing," Ezra drawled wearily.

Josiah laughed. "You two all right?"

Ezra nodded and Nathan smiled. "What about you?" he asked, indicating the gash in his arm.

Josiah shrugged. "Scratch. I'll get the horses. You take care of Brother Ezra. I believe it's time to go home."

Epilogue

"Where the hell did that come from?" Chris asked as Vin shrugged into a tattered buckskin coat that was too small for the tracker. They had been in Carson Falls for nearly a week and were ready to go home.

"Got my sources," he answered quietly, a mischievous grin playing across his face.

"That's worse than the old one ever was, even with a few arrow holes in it."

"Ya think?" Vin held his arms out and looked down at the coat. "I kinda like it. ‘Sides, if Ezra had'a taken better care of the old one…"

Chris eyed him skeptically. He knew that the quiet young man had a wicked sense of humor, and was interested to see what he was up to. He decided to stick close to the tracker until he found out.

The rest of the men were waiting in front of the hotel. Ezra's leg was still healing, so they had hired a buggy that Nathan would drive. The healer was still recovering from his injuries and it would be easier than riding.

Josiah and JD were already mounted, but Buck was on the porch in front of the hotel, leaning heavily on two busty blondes.

"Do you have to go, Buck?" one of the girls sighed. "You're still recuperating."

"Duty calls, ladies," Buck said dramatically, stepping off the boardwalk. He swayed and the girls tightened their grips.

"You need to be in bed, Buck," one of them giggled.

"Don't encourage him," JD called, and Buck frowned. "He's been in bed too much as it is."

"Ain't no such thing," the rogue quipped, then gave each girl a long, deep kiss before gathering Romeo's reins and swinging into the saddle. He winked to the ladies, then glanced at his companions. His eyes fell on Vin. "Tanner, what the hell is that?"

"It's a coat," Vin snapped back. "If ya'll didn't notice, Ezra saw fit to murder my last one."

"Justifiable crittercide," Ezra muttered. "Wherever did you get that…thing?"

"Cost me fifty bucks, Ezra. Reckon you owe me."

Ezra's eyes widened and for a moment he sat in stunned silence, his mouth hanging open.

"Fixin' ta catch some flies there, Brother Ezra?" Josiah asked.

The gambler shot him a harsh look, but closed his mouth.

"First, Mr. Tanner, that shredded cowhide is not worth fifty cents, much the less fifty dollars."

Vin smiled and shrugged. "Nice buckskin coat's hard ta come by, Ezra," he drawled.

"No doubt," the conman muttered in return. "But there is also the matter of a high quality imported shirt that suffered grievous abuses in your care." Ezra smiled in triumph.

"Thanks fer remindin' me." The tracker dug in his saddlebags and pulled out a paper-wrapped bundle. Ezra looked at it suspiciously before taking it.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

Ezra carefully unwrapped the package to reveal a silk shirt similar to the one that had been destroyed. He fingered the material appreciatively.

"Why, Mr. Tanner, I'm stunned." He looked at the tracker, then frowned. "But fifty dollars?"

"Yep."

"Fifty?"

Vin nodded. Reluctantly, Ezra pulled out the wad of money he kept in his boot, peeled away several bills, then returned the remainder to its place.

Chris was barely able to contain his laugh as Vin smugly pocketed the money. "Let's get home," he said. They started to move out when a shout stopped them.

"Sheriff! Sheriff Dunne!"

The group stopped and JD straightened as he turned Milagro to face the man calling him.

John McLauren trotted up to the group, carrying Alonzo, with Amy in tow. "I can't thank you enough," he said, looking first at JD, then at the others. "And I want to apologize again for the mistake."

"'S okay," JD said, then frowned sternly. "Just see to it that it doesn't happen again."

"No, sir," the farmer said. "And Mr. Wilmington, Amy insisted I get this for you." He held out a package that the lawman nearly dropped because of the unexpected weight. Buck tore the paper away and was left holding a frying pan.

"So you can make griddle cakes," Amy explained.

Buck grinned as the other men laughed. "Thank you, darlin'. I'll treasure it."

McLauren shrugged and smiled. Vin maneuvered Diablo up to him, then pulled the small wad of bills out of his pocket and handed it down.

"There's a reward on them renegades," he said quietly.

Ezra opened his mouth to say something, but Nathan nudged him to silence.

McLauren accepted the money, speechless for a moment. "This is overly generous," he finally stammered. "You've all done too much."

"Not at all. Maybe it'll help some."

"Yes, it will," John said. "A great deal. I'm selling the homestead -- can't go back after…Well, anyway, there's a small ranch adjacent to Sean's that I'm looking to buy."

"Well, if yer ever out our way, look us up," JD commented. "Me and my deputies'd be glad ta see ya."

"I'll do that. And thank you again."

The lawmen nodded, then the small group started for home. Ahead of the wagon, Chris pulled Midnight alongside Diablo. "Slick move with the coat, Pard."

Vin grinned. "Figured Ezra could afford it. Shirt cost me two dollars. Man at the store said some dandy ordered it, then never came back. Was happy to get rid of it."

Chris smiled. "But that dead hide really is pathetic."

"Got it covered." Vin shrugged out of the coat, then pulled his precious coat from his bedroll. The holes had been expertly mended and were barely visible. The tracker slipped into his buckskin. As they passed an old miner, Vin held the old coat out to him. "Here, pard. Look like you could use this."

"Gee, thanks, mister," the man said, putting the garment on.

Several seconds later, as the group proceeded down the road, there was a pained shout.

"Mr. Tanner!"

"Who says ya can't con a conman?" Chris mumbled.

END